


Amongst The Shadows

by RedheadedDragon



Series: Meliandra [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lost Love, Love Triangles, Masturbation, Pregnancy, Promiscuity, Prostitution, Triggers, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:38:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 55
Words: 105,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedheadedDragon/pseuds/RedheadedDragon
Summary: Meliandra is restless and asks Brynjolf for bigger jobs.





	1. In The Beginning

He watched the lithe figure of the Breton jump from the tower to the burning town below. He knew nothing about her but her name, Meliandra. She was already on the wagon when his men and himself were loaded onto the wagons. She was young, about fifteen years his junior; a child still, except her eyes said differently. He would have been intrigued then if he hadn’t believed that he was on his way to his own death. Now as he watched her jump out the side of the wall he found himself wishing he’d see her again.


	2. The Wager

She sat alone in the corner, a tankard of ale in front of her, her fourth since he started watching her. A couple of the local men tried to make conversation with her, but they soon gave up and walked away. His eyes followed the length of her legs, shapely and firm. Her black hair laid upon her shoulders in waves, some cascading down her voluptuous breasts. He felt a stirring within as he continued watching her, sizing up his mark. When she headed up the stairs he made his move, grabbing a couple bottles of mead and following her. He caught sight of her as she sat at the upstairs table, just out of view. He walked up on her quietly, saying softly in his lilting voice, “You look as if you’re a little light in the pocket lass.” 

A pair of piercing emerald green eyes glared at him and her voice, cold as the winter’s winds off the water, “And what does that matter to someone who has no business in my coin purse?” 

“Aren’t you a feisty one? How about a wager, lass?” 

“I don’t have time for this,” she said as she turned back to her drink. From the corner of her eye she saw him set an ebony dagger that pulsed with a fire enchantment and bore what appeared to be a family crest upon it’s hilt outlined in gold with a diamond on each side. She set her tankard down and looked back at him. 

“I thought that’d get your attention.” 

“Damn straight it’s got my attention.” 

He set the bottles down and sat in the chair across from her, smiling all the while. “Ever throw knives?” 

She cocked an eyebrow. “Why?” 

“How about we stick this poster on the wall and see who can hit the mark the most times,” he said as he pulled out what she saw was a wanted poster and took a piece of charcoal from the table and drew an x in the middle of the paper over the words “Thieves Guild”, then drew a circle around it. “The thing is, if you miss the target area, you have to take a drink. If you hit the target the most, you keep this dagger.” 

“And if you do?” 

He smiled even broader. “Spending the evening with you.” At her confused look he continued on, “I just watched you reject half of the men of Riften. I want to be the one who doesn’t get rejected.” 

He was rewarded with the flash of a smile as she laughed. “You’ve got a bet.” 

He took the poster and walked across the room. Taking another dagger out from inside his robes, he speared it to the wall. Then he reached into another inner pocket and withdrew a set of throwing knives. “How many paces shall we make this?” 

“Three paces to begin with then increase a pace after every five turns?” she answered after a moment of thought. 

This time it was him who raised an eyebrow. “The lass likes a challenge,” he said as he marked off three paces. He looked at her as she approached him; he liked the sway of her hips as she walked, he liked the mischievous glint to her eyes as she smiled sweetly at him. He thought about how he wanted to get to know her body intimately and not for the first time tonight. 

“And how shall we decide who goes first?” 

He held out the knives and said, “You may have the honor.” 

Taking the knives, she walked to the spot he had marked off and assumed her stance. She felt the weight of the knife and took aim. He watched as the knife flew from her fingers and implanted itself in the middle of the x with a soft thud. Then he watched as she did the same with the other two. “I think I may have underestimated you, lass. I might just have my work cut out for me.” 

For the next couple hours, they continued throwing knives, drinking and talking until Meliandra threw the last knife for the last time. She smiled in satisfaction as she hit the tip of the x. He returned her smile as he held out the dagger. “Very nice. You’ve definitely earned this.” 

She went to take the prize, saying, “Thank you for a joyful evening, Brynjolf.” 

As her fingers closed around the blade, Brynjolf moved his hand to envelop hers, his eyes searching hers as he responded, “We don’t have to let this night end, lass.” Then he leaned down, his lips brushing against hers a gentle kiss meant to test the waters. He was answered by her resting her hand on his cheek as she leaned forward and returned the kiss. He immediately deepened the kiss as he pulled her body into his; his hold was strong, protective, possessive. He could taste the sweetness of the Black-Briar Mead they’d been consuming upon her lips and he hungered to taste more of her. He ran his hand up her back to her neck and into her long black hair. He wrapped her hair in between his fingers as he claimed possession of her mouth. His hunger grew as she returned his kiss with heated fervor. He felt himself hardening; he had to have her. He broke the kiss and breathing heavily said, “We should take this to your room, lass. I don’t particularly care for giving a show.” 

She nodded and led him to her rented room. She barely had the door closed when she felt his lips on the back of her neck, his arm wrapping around her waist, his free hand slightly gripping her throat; he felt her pulse race beneath his fingers. As he looked over her shoulder he caught sight of the Amulet of Dibella she wore beneath her dress; a smile spread across his face. He fingered the chain, drawing the amulet out and said, “I think I might be in for a treat tonight.” 

A throaty laugh emerged from her as she looked at him through her eyelashes. “That makes two of us.” 

He turned her around to face him, pinning her to the door as he crushed his lips down upon hers. His hand hiked the bottom of her dress up, then his fingers sought out the valley between her legs and was rewarded by discovering her wet in anticipation. He slipped a finger into the wetness and began massaging the inside of her womanhood. He felt her moan vibrate as he thrust his tongue into her mouth; he was throbbing hard as she welcomed his exploration with matched fervor. 

She reached for the ties that held his fine coat closed, then her hand expertly found its way beneath his pants after quickly loosening them. She wrapped her slender hand around his thick shaft and started stroking it. After a moment, she broke their kiss, nipped his lip and smiled at him before trailing her fingernails down his chest as she slowly got upon her knees. She flicked the tip of his member with her tongue before taking him into her mouth, eliciting a pleasured humming from the Nord. As she suckled on him she massaged the ball sack; he hardened even more. 

“By the Eight, Meliandra,” he breathed heavily. He ran his hands through her hair gripping both sides of her head as he gyrated his pelvis; the feel of her lips on his cock as it slid back and forth between them was pure ecstasy. “Keep this up and you’re going to make me cum too soon,” he warned. 

“Oh, we can’t have that now, can we?” she taunted playfully. 

He stepped back and said, “Why don’t we move this to the bed, lass?” He removed his boots and finished undressing while watching her walk over to the bed. She started to pull her dress over her head when he said, “No. Leave it on. I will take it off.” She turned to look at him, a slight smile hiding upon her lips. “Get on the bed and lay back.” At her hesitation, he said, “Do as you’re told, Meliandra.” 

She walked over to the bed, cast a furtive glance at Brynjolf and climbed atop the bed, pulling the bottom up above her supple rear. Once again, she cast a sidelong glance at the man. Her green eyes gazing out behind long, thick eyelashes. Her lips curled into a seductive smile as she laid back on the bed, watching him. 

Brynjolf undressed, watching every move this young Breton made. He was throbbing hard and needed to release. He gazed at this ebony haired beauty in front of him, licked his lips in anticipation and walked toward her. He climbed onto the bed by her feet and began trailing kisses on the inside of her legs working his way up. He kissed her nether regions eliciting coos of pleasure from the girl. His tongue flicked through the folds of her womanhood and he felt her fingers going through his hair. He continued kissing his way up her belly until he was at her breasts. With one hand, he massaged her breast while he took the other in his mouth, suckling upon her. He smiled as he heard her moaning in pleasure. He moved his hand back down to the warmth between her legs. He slipped a finger into her and started stroking her insides. As he listened to her breath quickening he slipped a second finger in to be rewarded with even more increased breathing and the gyrating of her hips. 

After a moment, he stopped and worked his way back down. He tasted her fully this time, not some small taste but rather he relished the succulent taste of her. While his needs were easily satisfied by any number of the local women he wanted her tonight and possibly the next night. There was something about her that grabbed his attention from the moment he saw her. As the night progressed he had found himself wanting to ravish her body completely. His desire was growing stronger the more she writhed beneath him as he enjoyed the nectar of her womanhood until her body started to shake with her powerful orgasm. 

Satisfied that he had pleased her orally, he crawled up atop of her, trailing his lips across her fair stomach. He playfully bit her perky nipples, eliciting a moan from her lips before continuing to trace his lips up her chest and into the hollow of her throat. She smelled of wild flowers, intoxicating to his nostrils. He threaded his fingers through her hair as he crushed his mouth upon hers, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth, dancing with hers. He held himself above her for a moment; his hunger had been building to this point and now it was about to be sated and he wanted to savor these last few seconds of anticipation. He plunged himself into the wetness he had tasted; she cried out in pleasure, her hands upon his chest as she watched him watching her. As he thrust in and out of her, she clawed at his chest leaving red marks all over; this only made him thrust harder and faster, his hunger only growing deeper as he felt his excitement building more and more with each thrust he made. 

He felt her body start quivering the way it had earlier. He thrust harder still, grunting as he slammed into her. She gripped the furs under her with clenched fists as she cried as her body convulsed with her second orgasm. 

Brynjolf could not restrain his own climax any longer as his body went rigid, his warm seed exploding into her wetness. He moaned in pleasure as his release flooded her; he thrust himself inside of her a few more times, then he collapsed on to the bed next to her. 

He laid there a moment catching his breath. He pulled the young woman into his arms as they laid there, both silent save for their breathing. She laid her head on his chest and he absentmindedly stroked her hair. “I think that that might have been the best loss I’ve ever experienced,” he chuckled. 

“It was more of a win-win situation,” she replied as she stifled a yawn. 

“Aye, lass, that it was.” 

#

Meliandra pulled her boots on as she listened to Brynjolf. After a morning romp, he started telling her about his outfit and how if she wanted to make more coin she should hook up with them. She listened intently; she wanted to set sail from Skyrim and forget her time here, but she needed to make sure she could set herself up for a while. All she wanted was a small farm where she could be alone with her alchemy studies. “So, what do I need to do to join your little group” 

He sat down next to her on the bed, bending over to pick up his boots. “There’s a Dunmer in the marketplace, Brand-Shei, sells odds and ends. He needs to be kept quiet so we need to put him jail. I just need someone to steal a silver ring from the Argonian’s stall and plant it on the elf. I’ll create a distraction so that you can get into the safe where Modesi keeps this ring. The rest is up to you, lass. Can I count on you to do this?” He looked at her, blue-green eyes smiling. 

She ran her long slender hands through her hair, a sigh escaping her lips. “I’ll do this, only so I can find out more about this thing you’ve got going.” 

He winked at her, the smile in his eyes now also upon his lips. “I had a feeling you would. You come down to the marketplace in a bit and let me know when you’re ready, alright, lass?” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. 

She smiled at him, a mischievous look in her eyes then watched as he left her rented room. She sat back thinking about the last month. After barely escaping Helgen she had made her way to Riften, earning some gold by picking up odd jobs along the way. Now there was this chance meeting. If there was anything her mother had taught her was never to look a gift horse in its mouth. She picked up the dagger she had won off the redheaded Nord and examined it and estimated how much gold she’d get from it. Twirling it in her hands she gave thought to perhaps slaying in Skyrim or moving on to High Rock. 

Sighing she stood up and dressed, opting to wear a dress with a cowl, sliding her steel daggers into the folds at her waist. She slipped a gold ring on her finger, a slight hue pulsating off it, and proceeded down the stairs. 

She slipped out the door, glad to avoid the Argonian’s gaze. She walked over to the blacksmith and inquired if he could fix her box, a nice hunting bow she had bought off a Khajiit she came across on her way from Whiterun to Riften. Unfortunately, in a scuffle a couple days before arriving in Riften part of the wood had splintered when she came across a couple bandits on the road. Satisfied with the estimate he gave her, she promised to return later with the bow. She walked toward the city center where various stalls were set up; she saw a woman selling armor and weapons and on either side, she saw the Argonian and the elf Brynjolf had mentioned, and off to the side she saw the tall redheaded Nord wearing finer clothes than the simple tunic and pants he left her room in. His eyes caught her amber ones and a slight smile touched his lips. She smiled at him briefly, gave a slight nod and pulled her cowl a little further down her face. 

She made her way towards the Argonian’s stall, listening to Brynjolf as he called out to the others for their attention. She discretely swallowed the contents of a bottle she had in her pouch and felt the potion of invisibility take effect. She withdrew a lock pick from her pocket and set herself to work opening the stall and then the lockbox. She quickly withdrew the gem and pocketed it. She quickly closed everything up and drank more of her potion before finding her way behind the elf. She slipped the ring into the satchel on his hip and made her way toward the cart next to the Bee & Barb. She paid Marise for a piece of food and chatted about how she kept the food fresh and she agreed to bring the vendor some more ice wraith teeth. She watched as Brynjolf closed up his stall then watched as the city guard approached then arrested the elf. Excusing herself she made her way back toward the doors of the inn, conveniently bumping into Brynjolf. 

“You definitely are full of surprises aren’t you, lass? Let me buy you a drink.” They walked over to the meadery where he dropped some coins on the counter and ordered two Black-Briar Reserves. They sat at a table to the side and spoke in lowered voices. 

“You know, with how things have been going around here, I’m surprised this went off without a hitch,” he said before taking a swallow of the mead. 

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

“My organization has been having a bit of bad luck, but I suppose that’s just how it goes. But never mind that. You did the job and you did it well.” He slid over a coin purse. 

“Here’s your pay as promised.” 

“So, you going to tell me more about your organization?” 

“Maybe.” He took another swallow. “If you can make it down there.” 

“If I can make it down there?” she repeated. 

He smiled at her. “Let’s put your skills to the test, shall we, lass? The group I represent has its home in the Ratway beneath Riften… a tavern called the Ragged Flagon. Get there in one piece and we’ll see if you’ve really got what it takes.” 

She glowered at him as he finished his mead and walked out. 

#

She pushed open the door and was greeted by the sounds of people talking. She slowly crept forward, listening and watching. She heard Brynjolf’s voice as he spoke with a group of people. He was no longer wearing the fine clothes he had on before but now he wore what she recognized as the clothing of the Thieves Guild. She heard the man behind the bar say, “Give it up, Brynjolf…. Those days are over.” 

“I’m telling you, Vekel, this one is different.” 

The man on Brynjolf’s left laughed. “Yeah, like we haven’t heard that one before, Bryn. Quit kidding yourself.” 

The bartender nodded his head. “it’s time to face the truth, old friend. You, Vex, Mercer… you’re all part of a dying breed. Things are changing.” 

At that moment Brynjolf turned his head and seeing her, said, “Dying breed, eh? Well what do you call that then?” He turned his full attention to her, a smile spreading across his face. “Well, well… color me impressed, lass. I wasn’t certain I’d ever see you again.” 

“What? That?” she jerked her thumb toward the door leading out of the Flagon. “That was a walk in the park. Come on, Brynjolf. Give me a challenge.” 

The guys behind Brynjolf looked at each other then back at her. The bartended chuckled and said, “I think you’re right, Bryn. This one is different.”  
Brynjolf chuckled at Vekel. He looked back at Meliandra, crossed his arms in front of his chest and cocked his head to the side. His lips turned up into a pleased smirk. “Reliable and headstrong? You are definitely turning out to be quite the prize.” He took her by the elbow as they walked toward the platform that sat above a pool of water. “So… now that I’ve whetted your appetite with our little scheme at the market, how about handling a few deadbeats for me?” His eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam.

“Tell me more,” she said as she returned his smile.


	3. Proving Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra is restless and asks Brynjolf for bigger jobs.

She arched her back, her orgasm racking her body as she bit her lip to keep silent; Brynjolf told her she couldn’t wake up any of the others and if she did he would punish her. He would punish her by sexually arousing her but forbidding her any form of release until he decided differently. He enjoyed this game with her; it was one that she was very adept at. She did as he asked of her, no questions asked and no hesitation and completely willingly. She gave him absolute control in their sex-play, pleasuring him in every way he asked. She indeed was very skilled in the Dibellian arts, bringing him to levels of ecstasy he had never imagined possible. 

He sat up, wrapping the smaller woman in his broad arms. She moaned softly as his lips left feathery kisses upon her neck. He then flipped her over he was atop of her, a glint in his eyes as he smiled down upon this raven-haired beauty. “We’re not done yet, lass.” 

He thrust inside of her, deep and hard, eliciting pleasured whimpers from her lips. He watched as her breasts bounced with each thrust, he watched as her long slender hands reached up to his bare chest then as they dug into his skin leaving red welts as she ran them down to his waist. The effect this had on him was immediate as he took her legs and propped them on his shoulders and thrust hard and deep within her. 

His climax came fast and hard, his seed pumping into her and then spilling out as he flooded her. His body quivered as his orgasm subsided and he laid next to her, his arms spread out across the bed. She laid her head upon his chest and he leaned forward to kiss the top of it. “Now that’s what I call a proper good morning.”  
She played with a few of the hairs on his chest as she murmured her agreement. “Brynjolf,” she cooed, “when are you going to give me a real job instead of sending me to Delvin or Vex?” 

“I think I heard Vekel saying he needed someone to get some books for a client. How about asking him?” 

“Are you serious?” she replied hotly, sitting up and glaring at him. “Don’t you even realize when I’m out doing a job?” At his confused look, she continued, “I just got back yesterday from getting those books for him!” A look of understanding came across his face. “Shit, I’d really like something other than fixing books or picking pockets. Give me something bigger.” 

He sighed. “Alright. Let me talk with Mercer. Come see me this afternoon. Why not just hang out in the Flagon today? Get some training in with one of the guys?” 

She climbed out of the bed and proceeded to get dressed. “Fine. But I’m serious, I want a job with some substance to it. I’m better than these light weight jobs.” 

He watched as she dressed then leave. He shook his head as he dressed and thought about his young lover. He knew she had skill, she had proven it time and time again. She had quickly proven her worth amongst the members of the Guild and had worked side by side a couple of them on a few jobs. She was smart and he had discovered that she was an accomplished enchanter, alchemist and mage, using those skills to aid her in her jobs. 

Making up his mind he went and sought out Mercer. He spotted him sitting at his desk in the cistern, brooding. He approached the Guild Master hesitantly. The older man glanced at his second in command then motioned to him to come over. Once Brynjolf stood in front of the desk he asked, “What’s wrong?” 

“Aringoth hired mercenaries.” 

Brynjolf’s eyebrows raised at this statement. “Mercenaries? Aringoth? What is that elf thinking?” He shook his head then asked, “What did Vex find out?” 

“That’s the thing,” the dark-haired man growled. “She didn’t get in.” 

Brynjolf looked credulous. “She didn’t get in?” After a moment’s pause he continued, “There’s hardly anything our little Vex can’t get into. What is our next move, then? You know Maven won’t –“ 

Mercer interrupted, firmly saying, “That new girl you’ve been screwing, she’s got a knack for this kind of thing, doesn’t she?” He sat forward and steepled his fingers in front of  
him. 

Brynjolf nodded. “Aye. She’s got enchanted jewelry and clothing that muffles her steps and aids her lock picking. She also has a good supply of invisibility potions.” 

“Think she can handle this?”

He nodded. “She’s perfect for it. And she has been asking for something else besides what Delvin & Vex have been handing her.” 

“Then I want her for it. Bring her to me.” 

Brynjolf nodded as he turned to had into the Flagon. He couldn’t place his finger on what caused it but he suddenly felt a wave of anxiety pass through him that set him on edge for the rest of the day. 

# 

Meliandra drained the last of her mead from the bottle and set it down on the bar. “Dammit, Vekel, why won’t he give me one of the big jobs? What more do I need to do to prove myself?” She placed some more coins on the counter and inquired, “Anything stronger back there?” 

“I got a shipment of Argonian Bloodwine in.” 

“Give me a bottle of that.” 

Vekel laughed at her. “Give me more gold then.” 

She stared at him, a glint in her eye and a hint of a smile on her lips and pulled out her coin purse again and starting counting. Vekel slid the bottle across the counter to her when she had pulled out enough gold to satisfy him, a smile gracing his own lips. She popped the cork on the bottle and took a large swallow. The bit e of the alcohol slid down her throat like knives ripping through her flesh. But it was Brynjolf’s voice behind her that caused her to nearly choke on her drink. 

“Get drunk later, Meli. Mercer wants to see you and I suggest we don’t keep him waiting.” 

She raised her eyebrow while looking at the bartender who tilted his head and smiled at her. She capped the bottle and slid it back to Vekel. “Hold that for me, would you, please?” 

“I’ll sell it if it stays too long.” 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Vekel.” She turned to look at Brynjolf, a smile on her lips. “Got a job for me?” 

He frowned and her smile froze. “Let Mercer tell you.” 

She followed him to the cistern in silence, two steps behind him. They walked over to the desk where Mercer stood looking over papers. She had seen him from afar but had never been introduced to him. Now as she stood before him she was intrigued by what she saw. He had piercing steel blue eyes set in a hard look as he looked her up and down. He had strong, very defined features that accentuated the sharpness of his face. His eyes lingered on her for a moment then he looked at his second in command. 

“Mercer, Meliandra. Meliandra, Mercer Frey,” came the introduction from Brynjolf. 

“Thank you, Brynjolf,” responded Mercer as he kept his attention on the young Breton. “I’d like to speak to Meliandra alone.” 

Brynjolf looked at Mercer for a moment then at Meliandra. “Come see me when you’re done here.” He walked out of the cistern using the graveyard exit. 

“So, you’re the newest recruit. I keep hearing good things about you. It’s time I see how good you really are.” He looked her up and down once more, then continued, “Now before we continue, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. If you play by the rules, you walk away rich. You break the rules you lose your share. No debates, no discussions… you do what we say, when we say.” He met her eyes. “Do I make myself clear?” 

She smiled at him but keep her face serious. He was straight and to the point and he had a commanding presence about him that demanded her immediate and absolute obedience to him. “Yes, Mercer. I understand completely.” 

“Good. Now let’s put your talents to the test. You know what Goldenglow is I’m assuming?” 

“Yes, it’s the bee farm outside of Riften on the lake.” 

“Right.” He sat on the edge of the desk. “It is also critically important to one of our largest clients. However, the owner, Aringoth, has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson. What we need to do is to burn down three of the estate’s hives and clear out the safe in the main house. Don’t burn down the whole property either. Our important client would be furious if you did and the last thing we want to be doing is crossing our clients.” 

“And what about this Aringoth guy?” 

“Maven prefers that Aringoth remain alive, but if he tries to stop you from getting the job done, kill him. The Guild has a lot riding on this. Don’t make me look foolish by fucking it up.” 

She nodded. “So, what’s the best way to get in?” 

“That, my dear,” he said as he smirked at her, “is something you’re going to have to figure out on your own. Talk to Vex. She’s already attempted to get in. Oh, and talk to Tonila and get some proper attire for a member of the Thieves Guild.” 

She nodded again. “Yes, sir.” 

“I have a feeling you’re going to be exactly what we need around her, Meliandra.” Mercer smiled at her as she turned to head back into the Flagon to talk to Vex. Of all the members of the Guild it was Vex she felt had not welcomed her. She could still remember the first thing Vex had ever spoken to her. 

Vex had been sitting at the bar in the Flagon eating roasted pheasant and baked potatoes while chasing it down with a bottle of Honningbrew Mead. The blond looked at her from the corner of her eye and said in an icy voice,” I’m going to make this perfectly clear. One, I’m the best infiltrator this rathole of a Guild’s got, so if you think you’re here to replace me, you’re dead wrong. And two, you follow my lead and do exactly as I say… no questions, no excuses. Do we understand each other?” 

Meliandra tried to avoid Vex as much as she could but when Delvin had no jobs for her she had no choice but to wait for one or get a job from her. She found it infuriating that Brynjolf found it funny. 

She found Vex sitting at a table talking with Delvin. When Vex saw her a slight frown touched her lips. Meliandra found herself inwardly groaning as she remembered that first conversation with her. 

“Spit it out,” Vex snapped when Meliandra stood before her. “Time is money and you’re not making any standing here.” 

“Mercer told me to talk to you about Goldenglow.” 

“Goldenglow? He’s sending you into Goldenglow?” She chuckled. “Alright, let’s see how good you really are.” She looked at Delvin who excused himself then motioned for her to sit down in the now empty chair. “That wood elf’s wit… he’s a lot smarter than I expected. Can you believe that fetcher had more than tripled the guard? There had to be at least eight of them in there. I sear, it was like he was daring us to come and get him.” 

“How do you suggest I get in?” 

“Well, on the northwest side of the island there’s an old sewer tunnel that dumps into the lake. It’s probably still unguarded like it was when I used it to get in.” 

“Any advice?” 

Vex smiled, her blue eyes shimmering. “Try to stay in one piece.”

Meliandra watched as Vex stood up and walked to the bar. She mumbled “Thanks,” as she herself stood and walked out of the Flagon to find Brynjolf. 

#

Brynjolf stood on the docks looking out toward Goldenglow. From the scent on the breeze he knew rain was coming and from the look of the sky he knew the thunder would follow. He heard the creak of the wood behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see Meliandra. He had indeed been right in recruiting her, she had proven to be a valuable asset to the Guild in the couple months she had been with them, bringing in more goods than the others had but things were still in a bad way. He knew that if anyone could pull off this job his little vixen could, but he was still uneasy about the whole job; something about it just smelled like a three-day dead skeever. He tried to shake the feeling as he spoke to Meliandra next to him. 

“Is this job more to your liking, lass?” 

She nodded. “Yes. Thanks for suggesting me.” 

“I didn’t,” he answered stiffly. “Mercer asked for you specifically. Word has gotten around and he wants to see how good you are.” 

She looked at him, an eyebrow cocked ever so slightly. “Really? Then I will do everything I can to not disappoint,” she said in a sarcastic tone. 

“What’s that for, Meli?” 

“Seems I’m proving my skills to not just Mercer but to Vex as well.” 

He pulled her close to him, a smile on his lips. “Don’t worry about Vex, she always gets like this when she thinks someone is going to replace her.” 

“Hmph.” 

He turned her around so he could look at her. When she refused to meet his eyes, he took a hold of her chin and turned her fact to him “Don’t worry about Vex. It’ll take care of her, I always do.” He laid a gentle kiss on her forehead. “How do you feel about this job? Are you prepared?” 

She laid her hands on his chest, fiddling with the stitching on his Thieves Guild armor. “I’m going to assume that means do I have enough potions for the job and yes, I made an ample amount of them yesterday.” 

“What about health potions?” 

“Do you not trust me restoration skills?” she chuckled. “Why the sudden concern, Brynjolf?” 

He shook his head saying, “Just a strange feeling, that’s all, lass.” He kissed her forehead again. “When will you be heading out?” 

“Just before nightfall. I’m going to go get some sleep so I’m rested.” 

He nodded, drew her into a tight embrace, kissed her and said softly, “You watch yourself on that island, lass. Those mercenaries don’t take prisoners.”


	4. Goldenglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra's talents are put to the test.

She found the grate for the sewer with no problem. She slipped in unnoticed and quickly changed out of her wet clothes and pulled out dry clothing from the knapsack she had made waterproof. She slowly crept her way up to the door and found it locked. She pulled out her set of lock picks and quickly set herself to work. She snapped two almost immediately and swore under her breath. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, then started again. Her adrenaline was getting the better of her and that was when mistakes were made. She felt the pick slide into its comfort zone and she rotated it, hearing the rewarding click as the lock gave way. She let out the breath she had not realized the she had been holding. 

She crept inside the entrance, shutting the door softly behind her. Keeping Vex’s words in mind she drank one of her invisibility potions then slowly made her way down the hall until she came to the first intersecting hallway. She looked down it and seeing no one, made her way down that hall until she came to the first intersecting hallway. She looked down it and seeing no one, made her way down that hall. Her footsteps were silent as she made her way to the next intersecting hall. She told herself to breathe again and made her way around the coroner and into the dining area of the vast estate. She heard the creaking of the floor just beyond the wall. She drew her bow and nocked an arrow, concentrating on the sounds her heightened hearing gave her. She saw the mercenary at a table and released the arrow. The arrow flung across the room swiftly, hitting the mercenary at the base of his skull. His last breath escaped his lips in a muffled moan as the steel tip severed the brain stem from the spinal column. 

Then she heard metal scraping against a scabbard and a voice cry out, “What the – “

‘Damn.’ She quickly concentrated her thoughts on the flame spell she cast as the second mercenary turned the corner and charged her. The spell was enough to knock him back. She grabbed the sword on her hip and rushed him, thrusting the blade upward through his gut, black blood bubbling to the surface of his mouth as the light in his eyes went dim. She saw the third mercenary a second later but not before she felt the bite of steel in her arm. Her eyes blazed hotly as her brain registered the pain. Her reaction was quick; she looked directly in his eyes as she brought the sword up in an arch, the tip of the blade slicing through his cheek and cutting off the tip of his nose. She readjusted her hold on the hilt, grabbed him by the shoulder, shoved him onto his knees and plunged her sword through his mouth and out the back of his neck. 

She pulled her sword out of the corpse, wiped it clean on the fur of the dead man’s armor, then continued, sheathing her sword and picking her bow back up. She used a healing spell her mother had taught her at a young age as she moved down the hall. She ventured up the stairs, finding the door to the second floor unlocked. She immediately noticed that these mercenaries were living it up, leaving filled coin purses strewn about. She took out another potion of invisibility and quickly drank it. She stealthily crept forward, drawing an arrow back in her bow as she approached openings. 

She saw the thick, hairy bare arm first; he was relaxed at his post, a mistake for him. Her arrow sailed through the air, landing deep in his side, dropping him immediately. Her aim was true; she knew her arrow pierced his bowels. She quickly reached down and pulled the arrow out. She pulled her sword and quickly severed his hamstrings.  
She heard rushing feet, she counted three sets of feet. She backed her way into a bedroom and fished out an invisibility potion along with a health potion. She quickly drank those and readied herself with her daggers and her bow. She would be able to disable one mercenary with a single shot from the bow, the other two she could easily take care of with these blades if her aim was true. The first mercenary came rushing in, his greatsword tin his hands. Her arrow embedded itself into his throat, causing him to immediately drop the two-handed sword and grab at the arrow, pulling it out and desperately trying to clasp his hand over his throat as blood poured out of the wound. The sound of his dying gurgling was soon drowned out by the cries of alarm as his two companions ran into the room.

The daggers were in her hand before they saw her in the corner. She gripped the blade of the first dagger in between her thumb and forefinger, the comfort of it’s familiar weight assuring her of her aim. She released the blade and it flew end over end until it sank into the mercenary’s forehead, a dead look in his eyes as his body hit the ground.  
The third mercenary reacted faster than she expected by jumping out of the path of her second dagger. He snarled at her. “What’s wrong, you little wench? Didn’t expect that?” He charged at her, his sword raised high above his head. She reacted instinctively. She grabbed a platter that sat on the table next to her and used it to deflect the blow, then she struck him on the side of his head with it. Startled, he took a step back involuntarily, giving her the moment she needed to draw her sword. He looked at her again, his lips drawn back as he said snidely, "Why don't you go home and be some man’s whore instead of trying to play with the big boys, wench?” 

“You talk big for a man with no balls.” He swung at her but she was prepared this time. As his swing went wide, she brought her own sword up, the point entering his chest cavity and exiting through his back. “Men get so testy about their balls,” she snickered. 

She made her way through the rest of the halls until she came upon a locked room in the very corner of the floor. She used a detect life spell and saw a life essence in the center of the room, seemingly in a crouched position. “Come out, come out wherever you are, elf,” she taunted under her breath as she skillfully picked the lock, opening it with ease. She walked into the room and found the elf hiding behind a bookcase. She sheathed her sword and stared at him. 

“Worthless mercenaries,” he grumbled as he stood up, sneering at her. “I didn’t think Maven or Mercer would allow me to get away with this, but I had little choice.” 

Meliandra cocked an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, little choice.” She gave a false laugh. “Look, I just want the key to your safe. Mercer and Maven can deal with you.” 

He shook his head. “I can’t. If I do I might as well cut my own throat.” 

She laughed at him. “What makes you think I won’t?” 

He paled. “Fine. Take it!” He threw the key at her. “Once the new owner find outs I gave in, I’m as good as dead anyway.” 

“New owner?” she silted her head to the side. “What are you talking about?” 

He shook his head. “I’ve already said too much. I gave you what you came here for, now go. Leave me in peace.” 

“What peace you might have left.” 

She turned and headed back down the hall towards the stairwell. She grabbed the gold she sawlaying around and seeing healing potions, took those as well. She gave thought to what Aringoth said about selling Goldenglow. She knew of Maven Black-Briar, had seen her on occasion, but had never met her. She knew what happened when she snapped her fingers and she knew about her temperament. She knew that Maven was going to be livid about the sale and she thanked the Eight that she was not the person who was going to have to tell her that piece of news. 

She found herself in front of a locked iron gate. She pulled out her lockpicks again and set herself to work. Once she got it opened, she silently crept into the room, listening for any sound. She doubted Vex got even close to this far in. She heard voices down below; slowly made her way down the stairs to see a set of closed doors on the other side of the room. Very carefully she opened the door to the basement and slipped in unnoticed. She saw two mercenaries in the far corner; they were talking and both held tankards in their hands. She slowly nocked an arrow into place as she lined up her target. She bit her lip and released the arrow, quickly drawing another and nocking it while lining up her next shot. She heard the tankard hit the floor as her second target came into view. A moment later, he lay on the floor like his partner was. She made her way through the set of closed doors and then through the halls beyond. She began to think that there were no more mercenaries down when she came upon a hallway with a sheer to the floor. She saw the slight reflection of a mercenary standing in the midst of the oil. She quickly cast a spell of flames and listened to the man scream as the flames from the oil died on out then ventured into the room, seeing the stairwell that led even further below the estate. She found the safe in the corner of the room and quickly opened it up with Aringoth’s key. She grabbed the coin purse and shoved it into her knapsack, then pulled out the piece of paper and, unfolding it, read it. 

“Aringoth,

This document acknowledges the sale of Goldenglow Estate and all property, assets and materials contained within. Payment of the property has been made in full by Gulum-Ei as an agent on behalf of the buyer. All dealings with the Thieves Guild in Riften is to cease immediately. To deter any possible retribution for this act, you are to take immediate steps to protect our assets in any way you see fit. I think you’ll find that the Thieves Guild is far more bark than bite and will likely avoid Goldenglow Estate rather than thin their already dwindling members.

“Good luck and may this be the start of a long and lucrative partnership.”

She folded the bill of sale and tucked it into the tunic she wore under her armor, the safest place for it. She closed up the safe and found her way back outside and toward the hives. As she did she thought about the bill of sale and could only imagine what Mercer’s reaction was going to be. She shook her head and could only ask herself what had Aringoth been thinking? 

The moons hung high in Tamriel’s sky. She could make out the shape of the five beehives across from the house, she stealthily crept her over to them. As the flames of the first hive licked the sky, she heard a mercenary raise the shout of alarm. As the second hive caught fire she could hear the sound of rushing feet against the crackling of the flames. The third hive joined the brilliance of the fire, lighting up the early morning sky. By the time the mercenaries stood in front of the burning hives, she was deep beneath the waters, hidden by the cloak of night, swimming toward the docks of Riften. 

#

Meliandra entered the cistern and looked toward the desk the Guild Master sat at. Not seeing him she headed toward the room often used by members for privacy. She didn’t see Brynjolf in his usual bed and wondered where he was. As she neared the room she could hear Mercer’s voice as he spoke in a commanding voice to someone with him. She could not quite make out what he was saying and she found herself curious and softened her steps. As she drew closer to the door she realized that Mercer was in the midst of a sexual encounter it took her a moment to place the woman’s voice as being Haelga, the owner of the bunkhouse. She found herself intrigued as she listened to the moans and statements of pleasure from the woman while Mercer called her vulgar names as he grunted his primal pleasure. Suddenly she heard the woman cry out as her orgasm echoed against the store walls followed by the satisfied grunts of Mercer. The slap of an ass echoed against the walls and then she heard the telltale sound of gold coins landing on a bed. 

“Clean yourself off and get out of here, whore,” he growled. “And hurry up; I’ve got business to attend to.” 

Meliandra backed herself out into the passageway, not wanting the bunkhouse owner to see her. As it was, moments after she heard the woman’s footsteps grow silent than she heard Mercer’s commanding voice, “Stop lurking in the shadows and get your ass in here.” 

Feeling the slight burning sensation of embarrassment on her cheeks, she walked into the room; she refused to make eye contact with Mercer, who seemed to be gloating as he pulled the pants on, his chest bare. She couldn’t help but noticed the definition of his abdomen, firm like the cobblestone paths alongside the city walls; she averted her eyes from him completely. 

“I hope you were more successful at sneaking around at Goldenglow than you were at trying to sneak around out there while I was grabbing a piece of ass.” 

She cleared her throat and nodded. “Yes, sir, I was definitely successful at Goldenglow. I found out quite a bit too. You’re not going to be happy, boss.” 

He pulled his boots on, grabbed the top of his Thieves Guild armor and approached her. “Don’t keep me waiting, Meliandra. What did you find out?”

He stood before her; her eyes gathered in details about his bare chest before he clasped the tunic closed. She found that she was holding her breath and slowly released it. “Aringoth sold Goldenglow.” 

“Excuse me?” His voice was filled with disbelief. “He would never do something as foolish as that, he knows how unhealthy of a decision that would be on his part.” 

She frowned as she unclasped her armor, opening it to reveal the tight-fitting tunic top beneath it. She watched as his eyes lingered on her breasts, full and large, the look in his eyes evident as he smiled while watching her reach into the tunic and withdrawing the bill of sale. She handed it to him and watched as his eyes boiled with the anger that rose up within him. 

“That fucking two-timing, back-stabbing piece of mammoth shit!” he exploded. “Maven’s going to have his head on a platter when she finds out about his!” He looked back at her, his eyes once lurid now hard and cold boring into hers. Strangely she found his gaze overpowering as her heart beat slightly faster in her chest. “What about the hives?” 

She nodded, “Three destroyed, completely burned.” 

Mercer nodded as well. “At least Maven will be happy about that.” He looked her over once more, a slight smile to his lips. “Brynjolf appears to be right about you. You pulled off a job that our best infiltrator wasn’t able to do.” He reached over and slowly closed the clasps on her armor, his fingers lingering on her clothing his eyes never leaving hers. 

“You’ve earned your pay and a bonus. Come see me later and I’ll have the gold for you. Go get a job from Delvin or Vex; I’ll come find you when I need you again.” 

She nodded, then walked out to find Delvin. She walked into the Flagon and found him at his usual table and to her relief she noted that Vex was nowhere to be found; she wasn’t looking forward to Vex finding out how successful she had been. She pulled up the chair by Delvin and sat down. 

“Got any work for me?” she asked as she reached over and broke off a piece of bread and shoved it into her mouth, chasing it down with a swallow of the mead next to her.

“Aye, got one that just came in. Real nice and east.” He reached over, got the quill and inkwell and a scrap of paper and wrote down the details, then slipped it over to her. 

She looked at the paper, nodded and put the paper in her pocket. “have you seen Brynjolf?” 

The older man shook his head. “Sorry, Meliandra, can’t say that I have, not since last night that is. Him and Vex were talking pretty heatedly about something before he took off.” 

She slowly nodded her head. “Thanks, Delvin.” She stood up and walked back into the cistern and made her way to her bed. She wanted to get some sleep before she headed out to Whiterun for Delvin but her mind was swimming as she found her thoughts returning to what she had heard earlier with Mercer and Haelga; she kept seeing his bare chest and even now she found herself feeling the excitement rush through her. She could still hear Haelga’s moans of pleasure and found herself wondering what it would be like to have Mercer deep inside of her. She tossed and turned until sleep finally overwhelmed her.


	5. Tangled Webs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra takes a job in Whiterun and makes a couple new friends.

She could see Dragonsreach in the distance. It had been months since she had left here after bringing Jarl Balgruuf word of the dragon attack at Helgen on behalf of Gerdur of Riverwood. The morning sun was on the horizon, casting beautiful red and orange hues upon the clouds. The winds carried the sounds of birds chirping, wolves howling, water babbling in the creek leading to the river as it splashed against the rocks, and then her ears picked up the sounds of a fight. She sprinted toward the sounds then into a full run when she saw a group of people fighting a giant on one of the farms outside of the city. She drew her bow, nocked an arrow and launched it towards the giant in one smooth motion, striking him in his chest. This drew the attention of one of the women who cast a glance towards her before drawing an arrow herself and firing towards the giant. Meliandra nocked another arrow and sent it sailing through the air, landing in the middle of the giant’s forehead. The giant sank to its knees before falling backward. She gave a quick smirk to herself as she hitched her bow on her back once more. The woman looked at her once more, said something to her companions and walked toward her. 

“You handled yourself well. Have you ever given thought to joining the Companions?” 

“The Companions? Honestly never thought about it.” 

“You never thought about the glories of fighting next to shield brothers and shield sisters, to always have someone by your side?” 

“I’ve got friends who fight by my side.” 

“Do you?” The woman looked behind Meliandra then back at her. “Why not come up to Jorrvaskr and talk to the old man? See how brothers and sisters fight for each other?” 

Meliandra smiled. “Perhaps. I have other business to attend to.” She took her leave and headed toward the gates of the city. The pungent smell of mead wafted upon the breeze. 

Once again Vex’s words echoed in her head, “Job first; get drunk last.” She just had a feeling she wasn’t going to get the chance. Soon the smell of the mead was replaced by the smell of the stables. She noted the Khajiit tents set up outside the city walls and waved at the trader on her way up the path through the exterior walls and to the gate. The guard, recognizing her, opened the gate and she passed through. She saw Adrianne working at the forge, the sound of her hammer striking imperial steel echoing off the city walls. Children ran past her playing tag; the shop keeper’s assistant was outside chopping wood while she had gotten the attention of a Legion officer who was watching her from afar as she made her way to the Bannered Mare. 

The bard sang Age of Aggression as a few of the townspeople gathered at tables and discussed local gossip. She approached the innkeeper, Hulda, and paid for a room. She laid her pack on her bed; it was light save for her potions and her enchanted jewelry, but tonight it will have stolen goods in it, making sure that Whiterun knows that the Thieves Guild is very much still alive and well. 

She had hours to fill and a nearly empty coin purse. She slipped her ring of pickpocketing onto her finger then the ring of lockpicking and headed back down to the hearthfire to join the others warming themselves as a cold rain set in outside, the thunder claps echoing across the land. A Redguard woman approached her, a rag in hand. “Get you something to eat? Something to drink?” 

At the mention of food her stomach began to grumble. “Yeah, what do you got?” After reciting the menu for the day, the woman headed off to get the food and drink leaving Meliandra to her thoughts. She had not seen Brynjolf since leaving for Goldenglow and knowing him and Vex had some kind of argument set her on edge. She had heard rumors about the two of them having a past but whenever she tried to find out from Brynjolf he would change the subject. Once again, she gave thought to leaving Skyrim and finding a home elsewhere. 

The innkeeper’s helper brought her a bowl of venison stew, a mulled wine and a chunk of bread. She broke off a piece of the bread with a murmur of thanks and soaked the hard bread into the savory broth. As she took a bite of the bread the chair next to her scraped the floor and was then sat in by the man who had been watching her.

“Haven’t seen you around before.” 

“Just passing through.” She picked up her goblet and took a drink, her green eyes watching him from above the rim of the glass. 

“Where are you headed?” 

She thought quickly. “Riverwood, friend lives there.” 

“Are you a friend of the Empire?” 

She smiled. “Of course.” 

“Name’s Idolaf. Yours?” 

“Meliandra.” 

They continued talking until she was done eating and he asked if he could walk with her some. Listening to her instincts she agreed. Though she had been here before, she played the role of the wide-eyed traveler, interested in everything around the town. She found herself in the middle of the Battle-Born home sometime in the afternoon, enjoying a bottle of mead with the eldest son of Olfrid. She almost felt guilty for leading him on but her job was more important. So when the evening hours set in and she found herself laying naked in his arms as he lazily stroked her shoulder after they had thoroughly exhausted one another, she didn’t understand why she felt guilty. She feigned sleep until soft snores came from Idolaf next to her, then, muffling her steps with the casting of a simple spell, dressed. She made her way through the Battle-Born house quietly, depriving them of a variety of valuables on her way out the back door. 

The innkeeper’s helper was stirring a pot of stew when she walked through the backdoor of the Bannered Mare. She smiled at the woman, who warmly returned the smile. “You’re back, I was hoping you would be.” 

“You were?” 

The Redguard nodded. “A courier came through looking for you. He left a letter for you.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew a sealed letter and handed it to her. She glanced at the seal and recognized it as Mercer’s. She slipped it into her satchel with a nod, trying to hide the disappointment that it was not from Brynjolf. She withdrew some coins from her coin purse and laying them atop the table, asked for a bottle of mead. 

Her thoughts echoed loudly in the silence of her mind; her doubts pounded in time with her beating heart, a heart that was slowly turning cold. She berated herself again for her youthful naivety and giving into these foolish dreams of hers. She had seen enough lives be swallowed by the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness. The mead appeared in front of her with a comment of if she needed anything more to ask. She nodded as she tilted the bottle back. 

She sat there at the table in the back, lost amid her turbulent thoughts. She could hear Vex’s admonition against drinking while on the job as she drained the bottle and signaled for another. Vex; just the thought of the blonde thief made her blood start to simmer. Meliandra knew she was young and still had things to learn, but Vex seemed to treat her as if she didn’t know anything and then there were the rumors of a past with Brynjolf. At the thought of the older redheaded Nord she got angry at herself again. She had always guarded herself against feelings of love; she had always told herself it was better to be alone than to feel the chains of commitment but when it came to Brynjolf she lost that control. 

She absentmindedly played with the chain that hung around her neck, thoughts torn between wanting to run far away from Brynjolf or running to him. A new bottle of mead appeared in front of her but when she reached for her coin purse the hand of the Redguard stayed hers as she heard, “It’s on me. You look like you could use one.” 

“That obvious?” she asked, a sourness edging her voice. 

“Men trouble?” 

She snorted in response. “Don’t the two always go hand in hand?” 

The Redguard sat down next to her, nodding her head. “They always seem to follow one another, don’t they?” She smiled at Meliandra. “I’m Saadia.” 

Meliandra smiled back. “Nice to meet you, Saadia. What brings a Redguard to Skyrim?” 

“A man.” She chuckled at Meliandra’s raised eyebrow. “An arranged marriage, one I do not wish to be a part of,” she said as she looked towards the fire. “I doubt my father would think to consider looking for me here.” She looked back at the Breton. “What’s your story?” 

“My story?”

“Everyone has a story.” She took a drink of her bottle of mead as she watched the young woman, her smile touching her eyes. “So, what’s yours?” 

Meliandra sighed then took a long draw off the bottle. Before long she found herself telling this Redguard of her feelings towards Brynjolf and her fears about Vex. She lost count of how many times her bottle reappeared full when she had known it was near empty. Eventually she found herself being led up the stairs to the rooms there, and even though her room was on the other side, she allowed herself to go into Saadia’s room, drunk and her defenses down. 

She stood in the middle of Saadia’s room while the dark-skinned woman shut her door. Meliandra had seen the look on her face before, but never on a woman. She was nervous, but the memory of Saadia’s hand caressing her thigh as the Redguard’s eyes held hers excited her. A moment later the woman’s fingers were slowly unthreading Meliandra’s ties, dropping the clothing on the floor. Dark eyes followed the curves of her naked body, fingernails traced along her skin, starting at her stomach and working their way to her firm yet gentle breasts and fingertips started pinching her perky nipples. Meliandra felt a warmth in her groin as a pleasured moan slipped past her lips, biting slightly down upon them. Then Saadia’s lips were on hers softly kissing her as one hand held a breast while the other trailed down to her nether regions. As Saadia’s fingers played in the warm wetness, their kiss deepened and grew heated. 

After a moment, the kiss was broken and the older woman stepped back, bringing her fingers to her lips and sucking the wetness off one saying “Mmmhmmm, you taste good. I’m going to have to have more of you.” She smiled as she licked her fingers clean. She undressed herself, then made her way to her bed, motioning for the Breton to sit on the edge of it. She kneeled onto the floor in front of Meliandra and spread her legs open. She again slipped her fingers inside the young woman, slowly massaging her womanhood, watching the expressions that spread across the woman’s face. She increased the speed of her finger strokes as Meliandra started grinding herself against Saadia’s hand. The Redguard’s hand began to feel wetter as the Breton’s moans began t increase in volume; she leaned forward and kissed her between her legs, her tongue dancing within tasting the juices as they began to flow freely. Meliandra let out one last ecstasy filled moan as her body shuddered its orgasm. 

Saadia crawled upon the bed, pulling the young woman into her arms. She kissed her neck, trailing kisses along her jawline until she began nibbling upon her lips. At first Meliandra drew back as the woman kissed her but Saadia held her head firm in her cupped hands. Her tongue twirled within the Breton’s mouth, giving her a taste of her own juices. In a moment, the young woman was sucking on that tongue and nibbling on her lips. “See?” she chuckled once the kiss was broken, “I told you, you taste good.” 

Meliandra smiled as she climbed atop the woman, straddling her. She her lips as she trailed her fingernails down the woman’s naked body, playfully flicking at the woman’s nipples. After some slight hesitation, she leaned down and started sucking on her breasts; she found she enjoyed this and hearing Saadia’s pleasured moans, continued to suckle them as if she were a babe drinking mother’s milk. She felt the older woman’s hand running through her hair murmuring about how good it felt. She started to gyrate herself on Saadia’s naked womanhood; this only caused the Redguard to push upon her shoulders, saying, “Go down” over and over until Meliandra’s lips were caressing the folds of her femininity. She could smell the scent of desire upon her sex; her tongue flicked through the folds, tasting another woman for the first time. She lost herself in her oral ministrations, finding the Redguard’s juices to be to her liking. Her enthusiasm built up and soon Saadia was writhing beneath her, clutching at the fur beneath her as suddenly her body went rigid and Meliandra was rewarded with a flood of Saadia’s orgasm. She greedily lapped at it like a pup licking its bowl clean, then crawling up next to the Redguard. She lazily traced circles on her skin as they talked into the early morning hours. 

When Saadia drifted into sleep, Meliandra slipped quietly out from under the woman’s arm and got dressed. She pulled out the sealed message and, sitting at the table next to the candle, opened it and began to read. Her eyebrow arched when she saw that Maven Black-Briar had requested her personally. Knowing that Maven was not one to be kept waiting, she hastily scribbled out a note to Saadia with a piece of charcoal explaining that she’d been called away but would return when she could. She left the note on the table and slipped out of the room, making her way back to her own room. She gathered her things together, secured the stolen goods in a satchel then hid it in a secret pocket of her traveling pack and then proceeded to head out of the inn. 

The early morning sun’s rays were breaking over the horizon as she departed the city gate. The Khajiit were sitting around a campfire, talking amongst one another. She asked if she could buy some ingredients and a few odds and ends she needed and they happily obliged her. She set out towards Riften, staying off the roads as she usually did. Her mind was a jumbled mess as she thought about everything going on as of late for her. Her feelings for Brynjolf were growing stronger despite herself and that was scaring her though she’d never admit it. She thought of her afternoon with Idolaf and frowned. While she couldn’t complain about the sex, she had to admit that he had not satisfied her. Her encounter with Saadia on the other hand had been more erotic and fulfilling than she had ever had before and she knew part of the thrill was the newness of the experience.   
She tried to get her mind off things, to pay attention to her surroundings, yet she found herself lost in thought and walking straight into a pack of wolves. “Shor’s balls,” she swore as she conjured a sword. As she thrust the magic sword into the wolf’ body she heard the zip of an arrow as it flew past her ear and into another wolf, dropping it alongside it’s pack member. She glanced in the direction the arrow came from long enough to see Rune a few yards behind her coming from the east, his bow in his hands as he nocked another arrow. She smiled slightly as she turned back to the wolves, thrusting her sword into the wild canine before her as it lunged at her. In a moment’s time the pack lay dead at her feet; Rune walked up to her, a broad smile on his face. “Good thing I was close by, eh Meliandra?” 

She smiled back. “yeah, thanks. Just got things on my mind.” 

He nodded. “Got your head in the clouds, do you?” 

She laughed. “My head in the clouds? What makes you say that?” 

“Word has it that you infiltrated Goldenglow when Vex had failed.” Meliandra blanched. “Uh-oh, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “Vex doesn’t like me as it is.” 

He chuckled. “Don’t take it personally. Vex is just…she’s a perfectionist and a hard-ass and that makes her seem intimidating. Don’t worry, she’s glad the job got done.”   
Meliandra raised an eyebrow but nodded. They talked as they walked back toward Riften, Rune making jokes with Meliandra along the way. She soon started to feel relaxed and enjoyed the journey home.


	6. Gathering Strength

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sporadically there will be a chapter of only a paragraph or two. I call these my "peeking-in" chapters.

The dragon sat atop a mountain peak, watching the happenings of the world below him. How much time had passed since those mortals Shouted him here? He was alone here in this time; his brothers lay in burial mounds around this world. This was unacceptable. Upon his return, he felt his power surge but his journey through time had taken its toll but as he fed upon souls his strength was returning. He stretched his vast black wings but still felt weak. Soon his brothers would return to this world and he would once more make these mortals fear him.


	7. Winds of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra discovers more than she bargained for; a new path opens.

Mercer saw Meliandra walking with Rune in the market and frowned; he didn’t want anyone interfering with his plans for the young Breton, especially Brynjolf. He caught Rune’s eye and motioned for him to leave, then he approached Meliandra, a smile upon his lips. “I see the courier found you alright?” 

She nodded. “Yes. Maven’s asked for me?” 

“Specifically, yes. Here’s your chance to get some good paying jobs; Maven’s been known to treat those who do right by her a lot better. As long as you don’t fuck it up.” He smiled at her. “But we don’t have to worry about that with you.” 

“So where am I supposed to meet her?” 

He nodded toward the Bee & Barb. “She’s in there right now, I spoke with her just a little while ago reassuring her that you’re the right person for anything she needs done.” 

“And what exactly am I going to be doing for her?” 

He shrugged. “Don’t know. That’s between you and her. And it’s best kept like that.” He glanced around. “Come talk to me after you’ve spoken with Maven.” 

She nodded. “Have you seen Brynjolf this morning?” 

He raised his eyebrow and responded, “I think I saw him sleeping in the private room.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t keep Maven waiting.” And with that he turned and walked away. 

#

Meliandra watched the Guild Master walk away, noticing the swagger with which he walked, and not for the first time. She found herself once again thinking back to hearing him with Haelga and seeing him half naked; she felt the strings of desire within her. She shook her head and hurried into the inn. 

She found Maven upstairs at the table where Brynjolf had approached her for the first time. She pushed the thought of her lover from her mind; she didn’t want to have anything distracting her from her job. The woman was imposing with her stern looks and her hawkish nose. As Meliandra approached she saw the woman who held so much power in this city sizing her up; she felt her hands get clammy and her heartbeat accelerated. This woman could make her life miserable or enjoyable, all she had to do is do the job right. She felt the lump in her throat as she introduced herself to the woman. 

“So, you’re the one,” came her monotone voice. “Hmmmm. You don’t look so impressive.” 

Meliandra raised her eyebrow and bit back her first response. “how about we just skip the conversation and get to the job at hand?” 

This time it was Maven’s turn to raise her eyebrow. “You’re a firebrand, aren’t you?” A slight look of appreciation touched her eyes as she said, “It’s about time Mercer sent me someone with some business sense. I was beginning to think he was running some sort of beggar’s guild over there.” 

“You don’t have faith in the Guild?” 

She laughed, a false, hollow laugh. “Faith?” She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t have faith in anyone.” She sat back and crossed her arms. “All I care about is cause and effect. Did the job get done and was it done correctly. There is no grey area.” 

“You won’t have that problem with me.” 

“I should hope not. This is an important job. I have a competitor called Honningbrew Meadery that I want to put out of business. I also want to know how they managed to get the place up and running so quickly.” She motioned for Meliandra to lean closer and lowered her voice. “Go to the Bannered Mare in Whiterun and look for Mallus Maccius. He’ll fill you in on all the details.” 

“Can you tell me anything about Honningbrew’s owner?” 

“Some layabout named Sabjorn.” She snarled. “Been a thorn in my side for the last few years now.” 

“So, this is more than just ‘friendly competition I take it?” 

“Not a day goes by that I don’t regret letting Sabjorn get as far as he did. In only a few short years, he’s taken that bile he calls mead to market and a chunk of my profits with it! I can’t imagine where he found the gold to take it to market so quickly.” She looked past Meliandra to insure they were alone then continued, “With Sabjorn in prison, his meadery will be forced to close. Then I swoop in and take over the place.” She shrugged. “No more competition.” Maven turned a hard gaze upon her. “One more time, in case I wasn’t clear, my dear. You butcher this job and you’ll be sorry.” 

“Why are you doing this now?” 

The woman smiled. “The Goldenglow Estate job has undoubtedly interrupted the supply of honey I need to make my mead. Sabjorn could use this interruption to his advantage and collect a larger share of the market. I can’t have that.” 

Meliandra nodded and took her leave. She hadn’t planned on returning to Whiterun so soon. She didn’t wish to run into either Idolaf or Saadia, not yet. She found herself awash in guilt no matter how she looked at it. And no matter how much she tried not to think about it, her mind seemed to wander right back to her feelings for this older redheaded Nord. 

She made her way to the Ragged Flagon to see Delvin before she made her way to find Mercer. She seared a skeever who jumped out at her and kicked its smoking body to the side. She sighed before opening the door to the tavern below the city and stepped through. She saw Tonila sitting in her usual place and spotted Delvin at the bar. Once again, she didn’t see Vex in her usual place; she was slightly relieved. She sat next to Delvin, putting a smile on her face in hopes of disguising the pain in her voice. “Whiterun’s done.” 

“See? I told you, nice and easy.” 

“Any easier than that and I’d be able to do it in my sleep.” 

“Ready for something else then?” 

She shook her head. “No, got a job I have a job to take care of for Maven.” She put some coin on the bar and grabbed a bottle of mead. “But first I’ve got to check in with Mercer.” She stood up and headed to the cistern entrance. She didn’t notice the looks on Delvin’s or Vekel’s faces or how they looked at each other. 

#

The blonde perched herself above his hardness, an impetuous look in her blue green eyes. It had been a long time since he had felt Vex around his member; he remembered how he had enjoyed sex with her, he remembered how she would tire him out. His firm hands held her small waist as she leaned toward him, her hands on either side of him, kissing him deeply. She tasted just how he remembered her, the honey of Black Briar Mead upon her lips and Argonian Blood Wine on her tongue. She slammed herself down, filling herself with his thickness. She held his eyes as she slid up and down upon him, slowly building up speed. He moaned in pleasure as she built herself up to her climax, his eyes taking in her slender frame, her full round breast, the glow that her skin took as the sweat glistened on her fair skin. He smiled as her body spasmed atop of him as she orgasmed. He held her as she calmed her breathing then whispered in her ear, “My turn lass.” 

Her eyes snapped open as she started to protest. 

Brynjolf flipped her over as he got behind her. He ran his hands over her supple ass, remembering how they jiggled just ever so much as he would shove his cock into her. “You wanted a fuck, you’re getting a fucking.” He slapped her ass, hard, just the way she liked it. She was on her knees in a moment’s time, his hands sliding over her ass cheeks. His hardness rested against the crack of her ass, ready to slip into her wetness. “You’ve been a bad girl, Vex.” His hand struck her rear again, harder this time; she clenched the fur beneath her. “You need-“ he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back “-a good punishing.” 

“Then punish me,” she said huskily, lust dripping off her tongue. 

He gripped her hips and slammed his cock deep into her, causing Vex to cry out in pleasure. She began to rock back and forth in time to this thrusts; he closed his eyes as he began to lose himself in the moment. Sex with Vex was thrilling just as he remembered it; it felt good, that he wouldn’t deny and it was satisfying enough, but something seemed lacking. His need for climax was becoming very demanding; he chased the release with invigorated fervor. 

As he climaxed he heard the shattering of glass. As his eyes snapped open he heard, “What the fuck?!” only to see Meliandra in the doorway, a broken bottle by her feet. She met his eyes; her eyes blazed heatedly at him. He watched, frozen, as she turned and ran out of the room. 

# 

Mercer heard the heavy block of the graveyard entrance to the cistern slide into place followed by quickened steps as Meliandra emerged from below, her eyes brimmed with tears, her face enraged. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. She shook her head and went to walk past him. He grabbed her arm, stating firmly, “Meliandra, what is wrong?” 

She turned to him, an angry glare to her eyes. “I need to get out of here. I’m just going to head out on that job-“ 

“The hell you are,” he interrupted. “In the state you’re in you’re likely to fuck up the job and we can’t afford that right now.” Still holding her arm, he turned and led her out of the graveyard. “Come on, I’ve got somewhere you can calm down in peace.” 

She pulled her arm back but followed him saying, “Fine, but I don’t think I’m going to calm down any time soon.” 

Mercer grunted and continued on, stopping at a locked gate; he pulled out a key and unlocked it. He waved to a man atop the second level and he lowered the ramp to the top level’s door. The Guild master looked to the Breton; he saw the tear that had escaped the confines of her eyelids and was trickling down her cheek. Taking his thumb, he wiped the tear away and said, “Come on, let’s get you inside.” 

He led her through the hallways until they came to a bedroom. He unlocked the door and held it open for her, then, after shutting the door again, followed her into the room. He motioned toward a chair, indicating she should sit, walked to a wardrobe closet and took out a bottle of brandy. “So,” he said, walking back toward her, grabbing a pair of goblets on his way, “you want to tell me what has my prize thief in such turmoil?” 

She took the offered goblet, swirled the liquid around and then took a long swallow. “He’s fucking her. I saw it with my own two eyes. How could I be such the fool?” She swallowed the rest of her drink. “Why would he be serious about me? I’m just a kid.” 

“First of all,” he said as he took her goblet and began to refill it, “you’re not a fool. And secondly,” he continued as he returned her drink to her, “whose fucking who?” 

She glared at him icily. “Brynjolf and Vex.” 

“Are those two screwing around again?” he grumbled. He looked at her and frowned. “I’m sorry, Meliandra. I thought those two had decided a long time ago that they were going to keep things professional between them.” He shook his head as he pulled up a chair and sat next to her. He lifted her chin with his forefinger, looking her in her eyes. “He’s the fool for doing this to you.” She tried to turn her face away; he tightened his hold. “You deserve better than that.” He stood up again, moved his chair behind her, then sat back down. He moved her hair aside and began rubbing her shoulders and neck. “Just because we’re thieves doesn’t mean that we’re dogs. Thankfully not all of us forget that.” 

“Oh, come on, Mercer,” she said, “I’ve heard the guys down there. Vekel’s completely in love with Tonila and everyone else has their one night stands, even you.” 

“Haelga is purely business,” he said gently as he leaned closer to her. “she doesn’t go to the jarl with information on us and we don’t announce that she’s a prostitute. I’ve paid for her services on occasion.” He paused then continued, “We all have our needs and not all of us are a lady’s man.” He placed a light kiss on her neck, his hands moving down her arms. He felt her slow intake of breath, her head slightly tilted and he continued kissing her neck. “Some of us know how to appreciate what we have,” he murmured against her skin. At her nod of agreement, he turned her to face him, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her full on the mouth. 

He found no hesitation with her as he ran his hands along the back of her dress, loosening the ties and drawing it above her head. His eyes took in the sight of her nakedness and he felt his desire stir. Her body was perfect, the perkiness of her young breasts, the flatness of her stomach, the toning of her muscles – everything was exactly how he had expected it to be. He pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. Her hands found their way up into his hair as she returned the kiss with matched fervor; he could taste her own desire. He reached down and picked her up, carrying her to the bed; she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him shamelessly as he laid her atop the furs. 

Meliandra’s fingers found their way to the belts on his armor and expertly undid them, her eyes never leaving his. Once she had loosed him of his clothing, she laid kisses upon his chest and stomach while stroking his member. He laid her back upon the bed, positioning her between his legs. Looking upon her beneath him he laid claim to her, her womanhood wrapping itself around his manhood as he sought to bring her to climax as he achieved his own. He discovered she had curled her legs around his waist giving him deeper access; she was feeling wetter than she had been just a moment before. 

“Fuck me, harder, Mercer, harder!” she cried out. 

He began to thrust harder, slamming into her making her moan loudly in pleasure accentuated by cries of ecstasy. Suddenly she cried out as her orgasm racked her body flooding the bed beneath her. He grunted as he thrust faster and harder, reaching his own climax. 

He collapsed onto the bed next to her, his breath coming in ragged gasps, an arm across his chest, the other pulling Meliandra close to him, caressing her shoulder. She curled up against him, her leg thrown lazily over his and her arm around his waist. Once his breathing slowed back down to normal he planted a kiss on the top of her head murmuring, 

“Only a fool would risk losing you; I’m not a fool, Meliandra. You and I, together we can become rich beyond our wildest dreams.” She chuckled in agreement, and they began talking about plans and dreams. She told him about wanting a farm and an alchemy lab, away from everything. He smiled at her thinking of her young dreams and how he had at one time had similar dreams, before reality set in. 

He got up from the bed and walked over to the shuttered window and, opening the wooden boards, looked at the city below. He kept the sneer from his face as he watched the townspeople mill around, oblivious to the events that unfolded around them. He wanted out of this town, he just had a few more things to work out and then he’d be leaving this miserable cesspool of a town. He saw Brynjolf in the market below searching through the crowd and talking to a couple of the townspeople. Mercer looked at Meliandra, sleeping naked on the bed and smiled; he loved when things went according to plan.


	8. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynjolf deals with his guilty feelings as he swears to make things right; Meliandra doesn't believe in coincidences.

“You sure you haven’t seen her, Keerava?” he rubbed his forehead with his thumb. Brynjolf had spent the past few hours searching the Ratway and the Warrens looking for Meliandra. He had gone to all her usual spots, talked to all the vendors and had even went to the Temple to see if she was there only to come out a few septims lighter with still no answers. 

“For the last time, Brynjolf,” the Argonian innkeeper hissed at him, “I haven’t seen her since she came in to extort money from me on your behalf. Hopefully she’s wised up and moved onto a new profession.” 

He frowned. “You know, Keervara, one of these days someone’s going to snatch that tail of yours and throw your ass right into Lake Honrich.” He stormed out, ignoring Sapphire’s gaze. By now most of the Guild had heard about what had happened and were giving Brynjolf wide berth. Vex had opted on taking a job herself, leaving Brynjolf alone with his anger and guilt. 

He made his way toward the graveyard entrance to the cistern, hoping against hope that he’d find Meliandra in there. As he made his way down the stairs he thought about what had led to today’s events. ‘Vex and her damn insecurities,’ he thought angrily. With the success that Meliandra was having he hadn’t realized that it was making an aging Vex insecure. He thought he could reassure her that Meliandra wasn’t a threat but once again he discovered that he didn’t understand women like he thought he did. After her success at Goldenglow Vex had become increasingly anxious. He had never seen his former lover so distrustful of another guild member. 

When she came to him early this morning he thought she was Meliandra returning from Whiterun and climbing into the bed they had started using nearly every night. He was enjoying the attention his cock was receiving as it was stroked and sucked. It wasn’t until he had called her Meli that he found out it was Vex pleasing him. He clenched his fists at the memory. 

He saw Mercer at his desk looking over some books, a grim look on his face. He started to turn toward the Flagon entrance when he heard Mercer call him over; he sighed, heading over. 

Mercer shut the book he was looking through and growled at the Nord, “Where have you been?” 

He ran his hand through his hair. “I’ve been looking for Meliandra.” 

The Guild master raised his eyebrow. “She’s on a job for Maven; she left about an hour ago.” 

Brynjolf nodded yet averted his eyes. He was relieved that Meliandra hadn’t run off because of walking in on him and Vex; Mercer would not be happy with neither him nor Vex if Meli left the Guild because of a tryst. “Good. I was hoping I would be able to talk to her before she headed out again but apparently, I missed her.” 

“Really?” Mercer said pointedly as he sat back in his chair. “The way I hear it, you were balls deep in Vex when Meliandra found you this morning.” 

Brynjolf squared his shoulders and looked at his superior. “I don’t need reminding, Mercer. It was a stupid mistake and I need to make things right.” 

Mercer’s eyebrow rose. “The way she sees it, there’s nothing to fix.” 

“She talked to you about it?” 

“She ran into me when she was leaving here. I got her to calm down which is a good thing since she was going to go directly to her job. Do you want her fucking up a job from Maven?” 

“Dammit, I never intended for her to find out. Fuck! I didn’t’ even ask for it.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to go into this with you. I need to talk to Meli.” 

“I’ll let her know when she gets back. Now to the business at hand. This bill of sale for Golden glow, something about this name sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” He handed the paper to Brynjolf. 

He scanned through the contract and found the name, Gajul-Lei; he nodded. “Aye, that it does.” He handed the paper back. “I’ll talk to some of my contacts and see what I can find out.” He started to leave. 

“Good. And Brynjolf?” He turned back to Mercer. “I suggest not being the cause if Meliandra leaves our outfit. You assured me she’d be an asset and she has proven herself to be one that we can’t afford to lose. And that goes for Vex as well. Is that understood?” 

He took a deep breath and nodded. “Understood.” 

# 

Meliandra watched as Commander Caius led Sabjorn out of the meadery, a smirk on her face. “Glad I demanded gold before I started.” 

Mallus snorted in agreement. “Be glad you got that out of him. I don’t think that could have gone any better.” 

“I’ve got to get a look at Sabjorn’s books.” 

He nodded. “Maven wants to hunt down Sabjorn’s private partner, huh?” He handed her a key. “You’re welcome to take a look around Sabjorn’s office. He keeps most of his papers stashed in his desk.” 

She took the key and thanked him, making her way up to Sabjorn’s bedroom. She wanted to hurry and get out of Whiterun, but she wasn’t in that much of a hurry to get back to Riften. She would have to deal with Brynjolf and Vex sooner or later, especially if she were going to stay in the Guild, like Mercer wanted her to, but in her heart, she still longed for her farm. Maybe her mother was right, maybe her wanting a quiet life was just a dream, and one she would never achieve. 

She shook her head at the thought of her mother. The woman had loved her, but Meliandra always felt that her mother was overprotective, always moving around, afraid her father would find them. A life began in near captivity to a life on the run made for a bitter young woman; her mother’s death at the hands of the Forsworn when she was fourteen only made her more bitter. 

She unlocked the desk and rifled around looking for anything that might help Maven. There in the corner of the drawer was folded piece of paper; she opened it and read: 

“Sabjorn,  
Within the enclosed crate, you’ll find the final payment As we discussed, Honningbrew Meadery should now begin brewing mead at full production. In regards to your concerns about interference from Maven Black-Briar, I can assure you that I’ll do everything in my power to keep her assets and her cronies at bay. This is the beginning of a long and successful future for both of us.” 

She frowned as she folded up the promissory note and slipped it inside the folds of her tunic and turned to walk out to find Mallus in the doorway. “So, with Sabjorn out of the picture, what do you plan on doing?” 

“Start changing it over to Black-Briar Meadery West as soon as possible. That was Maven’s part of the deal. She’s put me in charge of keeping the wine flowing, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” He walked with her back down the stairs. “If you’re in the area and you’re ever need anything fenced, you just let me know,” he continued with a wink and a smile. 

“Tell me something, Mallus. What the fuck was up with that deranged lunatic down there? A little warning about that would have been appreciated. Damn lucky I was quick on casting a ward.” 

“Look, sorry about that but I couldn’t risk you backing out of this if you knew about Hamelyn and his skeevers. That’s why I left him out of our previous discussion. But on the plus side, you’ve done Maven a favor getting rid of him and you saved me the coin on hiring someone else to do it later.” He smiled at her. 

She frowned at him. “You’re fucked up, Mallus. I’m remembering this, don’t you doubt that.” She took her leave and headed back to Riften, climbing on the back of a horse she had taken off a bandit. As she rode she found herself thinking about the promissory note. There was that funny little symbol again, too, the same one from the bill of sale on Goldenglow. She didn’t believe in coincidences. 

Some hours into her ride back she decided to rest and eat something. She tethered the horse to a tree near the creek she was by, the white and black stallion, drank some water and began to graze on the grass as Meliandra splashed water on her face. She opened her pack and pulled out a chunk of hard day old bread, a wedge of cheese and a small flask of mead, and began to eat. She scanned the horizon, watching the brush sway in the breeze. Her thoughts went to Brynjolf again; she took a long pull off her flask. A fool, that’s what she was, just a fool. She was just a child in his eyes; why would he be serious about her? An image of Brynjolf behind Vex flashed through her mind; she took another long pull off the bottle. 

Her ears picked up the snapping of a twig a moment before she felt the sting of the arrow in her shoulder. She conjured a sword quickly as she leapt to her feet, spinning to see a masked Khajiit in black and red rushing forward. “Damn it,” she swore under her breath, recognizing the clothing of the Dark Brotherhood. The feline assailant already had dropped his bow and his claws were extended; if Meliandra didn’t watch it, her skin would be ripped to shreds by them. 

She began to parry the swiping, sharp claws deflecting them with the magical barrier of the sword. She had sparred with a Khajiit friend years ago, but had never fought with one before. Hew sword cut through the material, quickly bringing a sharp hiss from the attacker as the fabric darkened with blood. Her feet began to dance as she lunged and blocked, weaving her way around until she found her chance. She conjured a second sword as she pirouetted around the feline assassin, kicking her foot out against the lower back of the Khajiit, knocking him off balance. Flipping the swords upside down, she drove the blades deep into his back, one on each side of his spine. 

She knew he was dead; she saw it in the dullness of his eyes. She kicked the body in anger and grumbled at him, “Who sent you, you fucking bastard?” She kicked him again before leaning down and searched the corpse; she found fifty pieces of gold, some food, a couple potions and a contract on her life. She threw the crumbled paper on the body and in a moment of rage, she set the corpse on fire. She stood there for a moment before looking at her hands and clothing. Damn cat fur,” she mumbled as she turned to leave. 

#

She found Maven in her usual spot upstairs at the inn, looking impatient as ever. “I trust you have good news for me?” came the icy voice. She handed the woman the paper saying, “Job’s finished, here’s the information you requested.” 

Maven took the paper and read it; she frowned as she said, “This doesn’t tell me much. The only thing that could identify Sabjorn’s partner is this odd little symbol.” 

Nodding her agreement, Meliandra said, “Yes; I’ve seen that symbol before.” 

Maven raised an eyebrow. “Well, whoever this mysterious marking represents, they’ll regret starting a war with me.” She handed the letter to Meliandra. “You should take this information to the Thieves Guild immediately. There’s also the matter of your payment. I believe you’ll find this more than adequate for your services.” She handed her a coin  
purse, heavy with gold. 

Meliandra nodded and took her leave of the powerful woman. She went to the room she had rented from Keervara and laid back on the bed, waiting for Mercer, as planned. He felt it was best if she put some distance between herself and Brynjolf for a while. Finally, able to rest, she drifted into a fitful sleep. 

#

Brynjolf had heard the whispers that Meliandra had made it back but he had not seen her. He was determined to make things right, if she would just hear him out. He sat at a table downstairs at the Bee & Barb, hoping Meliandra would come in here. Sapphire had seen him walk in, then she turned to leave, a look on her face that he thought was pity, but he knew Sapphire’s heart was cold and she felt no pity. Talen-Jei brought him a drink telling him it was on the house. He almost choked on the concoction; spitting it across the table. “What in Oblivion is this? Skeever piss?” 

The Argonian looked insulted. “It ought to be for what you and your crew have done to Keervara.” 

Brynjolf watched as the lizard walked back to the bar; he grumbled to himself, his foul mood deepening the furrow of his brow. He thought about what he wanted to tell Meliandra, how he knew that he made a mistake and that he didn’t deserve forgiveness, that he only wanted a chance to make amends. This young woman had nestled into his life and now the idea of her not being there anymore frightened him. He ran his hand through his hair and sighing, made to get up to leave. That’s when he saw Mercer and Maven speaking by the stairs. Maven looked pleased, a hint of a smile on her lips. They appeared to be discussing the job that Meliandra had done for her; Brynjolf held a brief smile as he told himself that Meliandra was indeed a valuable asset to the Guild as he had believed. 

He watched as Maven left and Mercer headed upstairs. After a moment, he headed up behind him. He sat at the table and waited for Mercer. He knew the guild master knew where Meliandra was. He wasn’t going to play this; he wanted his partner back. He could Mercer’s muffled voice talking what seemed like business, but he couldn’t make out the other voice. After a while it got quiet save for the distinctive sound of the bed hitting the wall as Mercer and his companion had their tryst. 

Brynjolf decided he’d wait for Mercer back at the Flagon but before he stood from his chair he heard a woman cry out from Mercer’s room; he froze in place. Something told him to wait. 

Sometime later he watched Mercer leave the room alone; still he sat and watched the door; anxiety wrenching through him, waiting for what seemed like an eternity for the door to open. And when it did his heart froze in place as he watched his young Breton over emerge, her face still flushed with the sex she had had with Mercer.


	9. Best Laid Plans

She sat at the bar in the Flagon talking with Vekel about a job she had just done for Delvin, adjusting the figures in the ledger at the trader’s shop in Riverwood. She had visited Gerdur and her family, had seen that Ralof had headed back to Windhelm to rejoin his Stormcloak companions. But it was the local drama there that was fueling the gossip here today. “The bard wanted me to give her this letter he wrote and say it was from the elf.” 

"So, what’d you do?” the bartender asked as he cleaned dishes and wiped down the counter. 

“I talked to Camilla and told her that the letter was from Sven. She wasn’t happy at all. I could hear her screaming at him as I crossed the bridge on my way out of town.” She took a pull off the bottle of mead before her. 

Vekel laughed. “I bet that’s one little bird that’s not singing anymore.” He stopped and looked at her. “It’s good to see you Meliandra; it’s been different the past few weeks without you around.” 

She nodded, a shadowed look coming across her face. She had been keeping to work, rarely coming down to either the Cistern or the Flagon; she wasn’t ready to deal with confronting Vex or Brynjolf yet. “Things are…complicated, Vekel.” 

He arched his eyebrow. “Hmmmm. I can imagine, one week you’re Brynjolf’s girl, then the next you’re in Mercer’s bed.” 

“That’s not fair, Vekel!” she snapped. “If anyone is to blame for that mess it’s Brynjolf and Vex, not me.” 

Before Vekel could respond Niruin called out, “Meliandra! You’re needed in the training room, Mercer’s orders!” 

Vekel busied himself with wiping the clean counter again. “Better not keep him waiting.” 

Meliandra headed to the training room thinking about her exchange with the bartender. She got the impression that there was something that Vekel wanted to say to her but was hesitant to. She shook the thought from her mind as she made her way through the passageway. Mercer had told her last night that they might have a lead on the mystery person behind Honningbrew and Goldenglow; she wondered if this had something to do with it. He had been giving her choice jobs, discussing Guild business with her, something that Brynjolf had never done. The more Mercer and her talked about it she realized that Brynjolf was only holding her back whereas Mercer was intent on teaching her more so she could achieve her goal. 

She walked into the training room and saw Mercer practicing with his sword; she stood back for a moment watching him as she had done many times since joining his bed. She knew exactly how his muscles rippled as he swung his sword, she knew how firm those muscles were beneath his clothing as she thought of her fingertips tracing he length of his arms, his chest, his abdomen, his groin. She reached up and toyed with her Amulet of Dibella, a smile touching her lips. “You wanted me, Mercer?” she asked sweetly as she approached him. 

He stopped, turned and smiled briefly as he sheathed his sword. “Yes, I did.” He leaned down and gave her a short, but deep, kiss then continued. “We’ve got some information on the name on the Goldenglow bill of sale.” He looked beyond her. “You want to fill her in on the details?” 

Meliandra turned around. 

He stood there, partially hidden by the shadows. There was no mistaking the broad shoulders, the way the Nord stood, and as he stepped forward she could see the bitterness in his blue green eyes as he stared directly at her. His voice was terse as he said, “It would seem our adversary is attempting to take us apart indirectly by angering Maven Black-Briar. They’re well-funded, patient and have been able to avoid identification for years. But even after all their posturing and planning, they’ve made a mistake. The parchment you recovered mentions a ‘Gajul-Lei’. According to my sources, that’s an old alias used by one of our contacts. His real name is Gulum-Ei. He’s our inside man at the East Empire Company in Solitude. I’m betting he acted as a go-between for the sale of Goldenglow Estate and that he can finger our buyer. We need you to shake him down and see what you can come up with.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe Gulum-Ei’s mixed up in all this; that Argonian couldn’t find his tail with both hands. Don’t get me wrong, he could scam a beggar out of his last septim…but he’s no mastermind.”

“Is he going to give me any kind of trouble?” she asked, slipping into a familiar banter with him. 

“Trouble?” he chuckled. “He’s one of the most stubborn lizards I’ve ever met!” He looked at her, a serious look on his face. “You have your work cut out for you.” She could see a hint of a smile in his eyes before they hardened again. 

“So how do I get him to talk?” 

“You’re going to have to buy him off; it’s the only way to get his attention. And if that fails, follow him and see what he’s up to. If I know Gulum-Ei, he’s in way over his head and you’ll be able to use it as leverage.” 

She arched an eyebrow. “I have a feeling that I need to keep him alive?” 

He nodded. “It would be a waste to lose a contact at the East Empire Company before we got the whole story.” He looked directly into her eyes as he spoke, holding her gaze for a moment longer and in the space of a heartbeat she thought she saw sadness in his eyes and then he looked back at Mercer. “I’ll be on my way now.” 

She watched him leave the training room and for the blink of an eye she wanted to chase after him; there was something final in his departure, something that made her heart break even more. Then she felt Mercer’s hand on her shoulder, firm and reassuring. She looked up at him, his shadowed eyes looked into hers; once again she was frustrated by the lack of emotion in his eyes. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

She smiled and shrugged. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Didn’t mean to spring that on you; neither one of us knew how you were going to react and I have to make sure that my two most trusted people can get along with each other   
regardless of their personal feelings.” 

She nodded her head absentmindedly. “I should get my pack ready; the sooner I get to Solitude, the sooner we’ll have answers for Maven.” She leaned forward and kissed him before leaving. 

#

Brynjolf walked out of the training room, his thoughts raging as he replayed the image of Meliandra leaning into and kissing Mercer over in his mind. The past few weeks had been torturous for him, seeing Mercer every day, knowing that he had taken Meli to his bed, hearing the hushed whispers concerning him and Vex while catching the wagging of the tongues about Meliandra and the Guild Master. No one spoke directly to him about it but no one was in the dark. 

He stood by the graveyard entrance, opened a bottle of mead and drank it quickly. His emotions had thrown him every which way when he was in the same room as Meliandra as if he had been on the deck of a ship in a turbulent storm. The young Breton had grabbed a hold of him and wouldn’t let go. Try as he might he couldn’t be angry at her; he knew that he was to blame for sending her running. 

He grabbed another bottle and began to drink that one as well. He heard the sound of pebbles being crushed into powder underneath boots that walked toward him, stopping just on the outside of the passageway. He turned around to find himself staring into the green eyes of the object of his agony. He lowered the bottle, but kept a hold of it. “Leaving so soon?” he asked, bitterness edging his voice. 

She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I wouldn’t want to intrude on your private time with Vex,” she snapped as she went to walk past him. 

He grabbed her arm, firmly but not tightly. His eyes burned hot with pain and anger as he said, “This coming from the woman who pays for a room at the inn to rendezvous with her lover away from prying eyes. Tell me, Meliandra, does Mercer pay you like he does Haelga?” 

She pulled her arm angrily from him but said nothing as she climbed the ladder out of the cistern. He watched as she left, the sneer leaving his face once she was out of sight. He punched the cupboard against the wall, angry at himself. The only thing that had mattered at that moment was to cause he the pain she had caused him when he saw her leaving the room at the inn. Now that he had caused her pain, and he had indeed seen the pain flash in her eyes before she pulled up those emotional walls, he felt as if he had just crawled away from a giant clubbing g him into a tree. He turned and walked back through the cistern towards the Flagon. 

The door slammed behind him as he walked into the open room where everyone congregated and talked about their latest jobs. He felt the stares upon him as he strode through, intent on exiting through the Ratway. He drank more of his mead as he reached for the door handle only to have it open from the other side, the tall blonde thief walking in. 

“Whoa, Bryn, where’s the fire?” she asked as she backed out of his way. 

His eyes narrowed. “You know, Vex, there wouldn’t be any damn fire to be running from if you hadn’t freaked out over a recruit,” he snapped angrily. 

“I didn’t see you complaining when we were screwing around; in fact, I seem to recall you being more than willing to fuck around. You are as much to blame as I am.” 

He watched his former lover stalk away then walked into the Ratway, drinking the last of his mead then throwing the empty bottle against the wall, the sound of shattering glass only aggravating him further. He had picked up a job from Delvin that took him out to Falkreath; he knew the time away from here was going to do him good, he just worried about what everything was going to be like when he got back. 

#

Vex stormed up to Mercer’s desk and pulling out her dagger, stabbed it through the book he was reading. “What the hell are you doing, Mercer? Damn near the entire guild wants to crucify Brynjolf and I because of that little upstart. The way you talked if Meliandra and Brynjolf stopped seeing each other you weren’t going to worry about Bryn being distracted. Now he’s distracted, angry and worthless as fuck!” 

“I didn’t tell you to come in between them; all I wanted was for my second in command to get his mind back on the Guild and not on his little plaything.” Mercer glared at her as he pulled the dagger out, handing it back to her with a frown on his face. “I didn’t want a wedge between them. While you may not like Meliandra, she has skills that make her as valuable of an asset to the Guild as you are. I’m not about to let her slip through our fingers.”

Vex snorted. “Of course, you were right there to rescue her when she walked in on Brynjolf and I. Now she sleeps in your bed instead of his.” She shook her head. “That hasn’t helped this situation at all.” 

A smirk appeared on his face. “I did what I had to do.” He looked directly in her eyes. “Meliandra and I, we’re alike. We want the same thing and we both will do whatever we need to to get it.” He sat back in his chair. “Perhaps it’s better this way; it seemed like Brynjolf was stifling her with small jobs.” 

“You know, Mercer, seems like you just wanted Meliandra all to yourself the entire time.” 

He smiled at her. “And what if I did?” 

“You’re a pig.” 

She turned and walked out, unable to shake the feeling that she had been some pawn in a game she was unknowingly a part of. 

# 

Mercer watched Vex leave the cistern with interest. He had known pulling her strings was going to be risky but it was a risk he was more than willing to take. He had been planning this job for years; he just needed to clear up a few loose strings and he’d be able to leave this city for good. He picked up his journal and looked at the pages; thankfully Vex hadn’t destroyed anything but he made a mental note to leave it at Riftweald from now on. 

As he closed the book and headed to leave, he once again gave thought to if he wanted to bring Meliandra with him or not when he left. It had always been his intention to leave alone but he could not deny the benefits if she went with him. They were indeed like-minded, they both did anything they needed to get by and survive, he knew her to be a skilled marksman and Brynjolf had bragged of her alchemy and enchanting skills, plus he had sparred with her enough times to know she was a very capable fighter. He smiled as he thought to himself, ‘She’s a great fuck too.’ 

He walked into the midday sun, chuckling as Vex’s words calling him a pig echoed in his ears. He had managed to screw her once but he had taken advantage of her in a drunken state. She had been a new recruit, still green behind the ears. He had desired her from the moment he had seen her and despite all of her protests, he had managed to land her beneath him, panting like a bitch in heat; he always got what he wanted. 

He could feel the desire building in his groin again as he made his way to Riftweald. The more he thought of his past exploit with the blonde thief, the more he wished Meliandra hadn’t left for Solitude. He walked toward the room he occupied when he did stay here. He saw one of the hired thugs he employed to stay here and guard the home, a brute of a woman. “You,” he said to her, “come with me.” She immediately followed him. 

He shut the door behind them, tossed his book on the end table and began to undress. He dropped his pants, his throbbing manhood standing at attention; he stroked his cock as he looked at the woman. “How do you feel about making some extra gold?”


	10. The Die is Cast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra discovers who has been interfering with the Thieves Guild but it seems to bring about more questions than answers for her.

Meliandra carried the large crate toward the looming doors of the Blue Palace, the Firebrand Wine buried beneath breads, cheeses and salted meats. She felt conspicuous in the maids clothing she had helped herself to to pull off this heist, but so far no one had questioned her. Brynjolf hadn’t been joking about having to buy off the Argonian, but she didn’t think it would entail stealing an entire case of wine from the palace of the late High King. If she got caught by the palace guards she had no doubt that she would not be able to smooth talk her way out of jail this time. She turned the corner, the doors right in front of her, just a few steps away; she was holding her breath as she reached for the door handle. 

“Haven’t seen you before. What’s in the crate?” 

She closed her eyes as she silently swore. She turned and smiled sweetly at the brown-eyed guard approaching her. “I’m new here, sir; my first day. Helping in the kitchen. I was told her ladyship wanted this brought to the inn, sir.” 

The guard looked at the foodstuffs and seeing signs of age, nodded and held the door open for her. 

She nodded and walked out the door. She made her way down the path that led to Castle Dour and from there she’d make her way to the Winking Skeever. She found herself annoyed with Gulum-Ei; she would play his little cat and mouse game, and she would get the answers that they sought. She stopped outside the inn and looked at the beggar by the door. “Want some food, old timer?” She dumped the foodstuffs on the top of a barrel and walked inside with the wine. 

She set the crate down and looked at the lizard. “Here’s your wine; now talk.” 

He smiled. “Good. Can’t have the buyer getting impatient and looking elsewhere for this, can we? Here, take these,” he handed her some soul gems. “I certainly can’t use them, but I suppose I need to pay you something for the goods.” 

“Are you trying to bribe me now?” 

He shook his head. “Not at all. I consider it an investment in prolonging my life.” He took a bite of his seared slaughterfish followed by a swallow of mead. “As far as Goldenglow Estate goes, I’ll tell you what I know.” He sat back in his chair and continued, “I was approached by a woman who wanted me to act as the broker for something big. She flashed a bag of gold in my face and said all I had to do was pay Aringoth for the estate. I brought him the coin and walked away with her copy of the deed.” 

“She happen to say why she’s doing this?” 

He shook his head. “Not at all. I tend to not ask too many questions when I’m on the job.” He smiled. “I’m sure you understand.” He paused the continued, “However, I did notice she was quite angry and it was directed at Mercer Frey.” 

“That’s it? No name or anything?” 

He chuckled. “In this business, we rarely deal in names; our identity comes from how much coin we carry.” 

She rested her hands on the table and leaned in toward him. “I think you’re lying to me.” 

“Look, that’s all I know. I never promised you I’d have all the answers. Now,” he stood up, “since our transaction is done, I’ll be on my way.” 

She watched the Argonian leave the inn, a smug look on his face while she glowered at him. She paid for an ale, drank it and then proceeded to follow Gulum-Ei. As she exited the inn she heard the gates of the city creaking closed. She sprinted to them before they closed; seeing Gulum-Ei walking down the path. She followed him from afar, climbing upon the rocks to watch him from above. 

His words disturbed her; she could tell he was holding something back, but what she wasn’t sure. It bothered her that he said that this woman had a lot of anger directed at Mercer and her curiosity was growing rapidly. She saw the Argonian head towards the docks and swore; she’d have to scramble down and cross the road and gain an advantageous view, but she had to do so quickly to avoid losing sight of Gulum-Ei for long. 

Pebbles bounced down the side of the rock face as she slid down the smoothness of the boulders; she cast a muffling spell and sprinted across the road and made her way to the rooftops of the docks. She caught sight of the lizard just as he walked below the awning. His boots made a soft thud as he walked across the wooden boards as the waves slapped the rocks underneath. A guard walked out from where Gulum-Ei had walked past, a moment later she saw her target again. She watched as he walked up to the doors along the wall, unlock them and enter. 

She fished around in her satchel till she located her elixir of lockpicking and her invisibility potion along with her lock pick set. She popped the corks on the bottles and drank both at once; a moment later she was picking the lock of the door and slipping into the warehouse, undetected. 

She found herself inside of a shack in a huge cavern, the inside of the East Empire Company. The air was stale and she could smell the salt from the ocean water that sat within. Creeping past she saw shipped goods for as far as the eye could see. Further on she noticed a ramp that would give her a good view from above and made for it, casting a life detecting spell to insure her not being seen. Along the catwalks, she made her way, keeping an eye on Gulum-Ei ahead of her. She pulled out another invisibility potion and drank, cloaking herself just as a guard came into view. She waited a moment, as the guard continued her rounds. 

Eventually she made her way down a ladder into the stagnant waters ad around the back of shelving, back up onto solid ground and found a door around a corner. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. 

She heard the voices before she saw the bandits. She nocked an arrow that she had dipped into a numbing poison. She heard only two voices; she would have to conjure a sword. She held her breath, leveled her shot and came around the corner; she adjusted her angle and fired the arrow. 

The arrow sang through the air, finding it’s mark deep within the Orc’s chest; the heart beat two more times before it stopped. The Nord across from him stared for a moment, a look of surprise on his face. As he registered what happened, he was struck with the next arrow. He reacted quickly, drawing his sword and charging around the corner. 

She dropped her bow and cast her spell, but two, not one, swords appeared. The bandit swung as he came around the corner; she deflected the blow with her own sword, blue sparks jumping into the air as she brought her second sword across his chest, arching her swing upwards. The blood sprayed her face; she licked her lips as she smiled at him. 

“You bitch!” he cried out. He swung again. 

She leaned back, quickly, his blade missing her by a hands length. She dropped to a crouching position, leaned upon her hand and lashed out her foot into his knee, causing him to buckle to the side. She pushed herself up off the ground, quickly found sure footing, then launched herself into a spinning kick, connecting with his face. She brought her swords across his chest n a zig zag motion before driving them into his chest. She extinguished the spell and the bandit collapsed, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. 

She made her way forward, ignoring the entrance completely covered in cobwebs and climbed the steps of a platform. Ahead she saw a bandit bathing in the water, her sensitive hearing told her another walked along the side. She quickly dispatched these two and moved on. The water lapped the side walls, creating the illusion of peace and serenity which was fine for her but deadly for them. Rounding a corner, she saw another in the distance; her arrow was nocked and released, landing in the bandit’s chest in the space of a couple breaths. She moved forward, creeping slowly through the caverns deep beneath Solitude. She cast a life detecting spell again and could see a canine off in one direction and the glow of life to the other side, two people. She had little problem disposing of these bandits as easily as she had the others. Again, she crept forward, quietly until she came to what looked like a boat landing with bandits milling about while the Argonian looked through inventory. One by one she picked off the bandits, never giving away her ever-changing position. 

She approached a cowering Gulum-Ei, her measured steps echoing against the walls. 

“Now,” he stammered, “there’s no need to do anything rash.” 

“Talk. Then I’ll decide.” 

“This isn’t as bad as it seems. I was going to tell Mercer about everything, honestly! Please… he’ll have me killed!” 

She tilted her head and smirked. “Tell me now or I’ll kill you where you stand.” 

“No!” he cried out. “Please! There’s no need for that! I’ll – I’ll tell you everything.” He swallowed before saying in a hushed voice, “It’s Karliah… her name is Karliah.” 

She shook her head. “You say that name like I should know it.” 

The lizard’s eyes grew large. “Mercer never told you about her?” He took a deep breath and continued, “Karliah is the thief responsible for murdering the previous Guild Master, Gallus. Now she’s after Mercer.” 

Meliandra’s fingers wrapped tightly around the dagger at her waist. “And you’re helping her?” she asked through gritted teeth. 

“Help?” he repeated in shock. “No, no!" Fear shown in his eyes. “Look, I didn’t even know it was her until after she contacted me. Please, you have to believe me!” 

“Where is Karliah now?” she demanded. 

He shook his head. “I don’t know. When I asked her where she was going she just muttered ‘Where the end began.’ Here,” he said as he reached into his satchel and pulled out a piece of paper, “take the Goldenglow Estate Deed as proof. And when you speak to Mercer, tell him I’m worth more to him alive.” 

She took the paper, unfolded it and read it; she put the deed inside her tunic and eyed him, “I’ll keep this. You better hope that Mercer and Maven both find you more valuable alive than dead.” With that she turned and walked out.

# 

Mercer was leaning back at his desk when he saw the young Breton enter the Cistern; he whistled to get her attention. He watched as her hips swayed ever so slightly as she made her way over and thought of those hips beneath his hands as he fucked her; he felt himself start to harden. Then he saw the hard look in her eyes and sat up straight. “Did Gulum-Ei give up any information on our buyer?” he asked once she stood by the desk. 

She nodded. “He said Goldenglow was purchased by a ‘Karliah.’” 

He felt the blood drain from his face and he felt as if the ground had just opened up beneath him. “No, he breathed, “it… it can’t be. I haven’t heard that name in decades.” He ran his hand down his face, suddenly feeling every bit of his age. “This is bad news, really bad news.” He looked at her and explained. “She’s someone I had hoped to never cross paths with again.” 

“He said she was a murderer.” 

His voice got hard and bitter. “Karliah destroyed everything this Guild stood for. She murdered my predecessor in cold blood and betrayed the Guild. After we discovered what she’d done, we spent months trying to track her down, but she just vanished.” 

“So, why’s she back now?” 

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. His voice took on a reflective tone as he answered, “Karliah and I were like partners. I went with her on every heist. We watched each other’s backs. I know her techniques, her skills. If she kills me, there’ll be no one left that could possibly catch her.” He shook his head. “If only we knew where she was.” 

“She told Gulum-Ei, ‘where the end began.’”  
He nodded in comprehension. “There’s only one place that could be. The place where she murdered Gallus… a ruin called Snow Veil Sanctum. We have to go out there before she disappears again.” 

“We?” she asked in surprise. 

He smiled at her. “Yes. I’m going with you and we are going to kill her.” 

# 

Early that night Mercer and Meliandra set out for Snow Veil Sanctum on foot, Meliandra had prepared her pack with plenty of potions to heal and become invisible, made sure all her enchanted jewelry was charged and tossed in a handful of soul gems. As they laid down in a cave that night she asked him, “How’d Gallus die?” 

He hesitated a moment then, picking his words carefully, began. “Twenty-five years ago, I was standing outside Snow Veil Sanctum. Gallus told me to meet him here but he wouldn’t say why. When I arrived, Gallus stepped from the shadows, but before he could utter a sound an arrow pierced his throat; before I could draw my blade, her second arrow found i’s mark in my chest.” He ran his hand over a scar a hand’s length beneath his shoulder. 

“She took you both on? Alone?” 

“Karliah was a master marksman and her greatest weapon was the element of surprise. I was lucky; she missed my heart by mere inches. I staggered away from the ruins and my vision began to blur. It was then that I realized that the bitch had poisoned her arrows.” 

“What about Gallus?” 

“The last thing I saw was Karliah dumping his body into an opening atop the ruins. An unceremonious end for a remarkable man. To this day, I’ve regretted allowing her to escape even if it meant I had died trying. I owed Gallus that much.” 

“What happened after Gallus died?” 

He sighed. “The Guild was thrown into disarray. Several stepped up and tried to claim Gallus’s former position as Guild Master; sides quickly formed behind these men and the Ratway became a bloodbath.”

She looked at him, her eyebrow arched in question. “And you were a part of this?” 

He shook his head. “I saw what they did to Gallus. I wanted to use the Guild’s resources to hunt down Karliah; the others didn’t even care he was gone. Fortunately, I persevered and the other groups were either killed or they left Skyrim.” 

“What happened to Karliah?” 

“The infighting had taken months to subside which gave her time to go into hiding and carefully cover her tracks. I spent thousands of septims and used every contact at my disposal. But it was as if she simply vanished. As I said before, she was the best.” 

“What was Karliah like?” 

He grumbled. “She was a stubborn Dunmer, always had to do things her way, but she was also the best, bringing in more coin a month than some thieves heist in a year. Gallus trusted her too much and let her get too close.” 

She looked at him. “They were in a relationship together?” 

“If you want to call it that, yes. Me? I think she was softening him up for the kill.” He cleared his throat. “Gallus would call her his little nightingale, he was absolutely smitten by her.” 

She shook her head in confusion. “They why’d she kill him?” 

“Greed? Jealousy? Spite? Who can say what drove her to such an act? One thing’s certain; I intend to find out before she draws her last breath.” 

“I thought that murder was Dark Brotherhood territory?” 

“I have a long-standing arrangement with the Dark Brotherhood. When I need someone in the Guild taken care of, we do it ourselves. We both agree to keep these matters in-house.” He rolled to his side and looked down at the raven-haired Breton, his hand slipping in between her legs and finding the warmth of her. “But enough of that; let’s say we work off some of this stress?”


	11. Betrayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra learns the truth about Mercer but at what price? She joins ranks with Karliah to expose Mercer to the Guild.

She had woken up feeling sick; all the stress was building up and taking a toll on her. Now after approaching that ancient wall she felt even more off kilter, but shook off the feeling. She led the way through the old Nordic ruins, keeping alert for any sign of any possible ambush. Everything Mercer told her last night echoed in her mind over and over; something about it didn’t sit well with her. They came to a long passageway with an ancient Nord puzzle door at the end. She hooked her bow into place on her back as they neared the door and looked at the Guild Master. 

“Ah, how quaint, it’s one of the infamous Nordic puzzle doors. Without the matching claw, they’re normally impossible to open. And since I’m certain Karliah already did away with it, we’re on our own. Fortunately; these doors have a weakness if you know how to exploit it. Quite simple, really.” He walked up to the door, blocking her view as he fiddled with the lock for a moment then stepped back as the door slid open. “Karliah’s close, I’m certain of it. Now let’s get moving.” 

The room was large and Meliandra instantly felt a prickle along the back of her neck; she reached for her bow as she crept in. 

The arrow struck her in her side, stopping her where she stood. She fell to her knees as the wave of nausea hit her; gravity took her the rest of the way down. She tried to say “Karliah” but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate with her. Mercer’s words came back to her, ‘the bitch poisoned her arrows.’ All she could do was lay on the ground, vulnerable with only Mercer to protect her. 

His measured footsteps eerily echoed off the walls as he walked toward the steps where a figure dressed in Thieves Guild armor emerged from amongst the shadows. Karliah. She crept down the steps toward him, her own in her hand, but no arrow drawn. “Do you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade finds your heart?” he asked with hatred in his voice. 

She smiled at him. “Give me a reason to try.” 

“You’re a clever girl, Karliah. Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired.” 

Calmly the Dunmer responded, “To ensure an enemy’s defeat, you must first undermine his allies. It was the first lesson Gallus taught us.” 

He snorted. “You always were a quick study.” 

“Not quick enough, otherwise Gallus would still be alive.” 

Meliandra’s eyes went to Mercer as she listened to Karliah, questioning silently her words. 

Mercer shook his head. “Gallus had his wealth,” he paused then continued, “and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way.” 

Meliandra’s eyes widened as she realized the reality of the situation she found herself in. Mercer had lied to everyone about Gallus. Only him and Karliah knew the truth and he was intent on killing the Dunmer. And now she knew the truth too. Her heart accelerated. 

“Did you forget the Oath we took as Nightingales? Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods?” she asked with a fierceness in her voice. 

He grabbed a hold of his sword, shouting, “Enough of this mindless banter! Come Karliah. It’s time for you and Gallus to become reunited!” 

The Breton watched as the Dunmer drank from a bottle then disappear. She heard Karliah’s voice say, “I’m no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence.  
But I can promise the next time we meet, it will be your undoing.”

After a moment, Mercer sheathed his sword and approached her. Sitting upon his heels, he said to her, “How interesting. It appears Gallus’s history has repeated itself. Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place.” He ran his finger along her cheek. “But do you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that this was all possible because of you.” He leaned down and kissed her lips then whispered, “Farewell. I’ll be certain to give Brynjolf your regards.” 

The blade seared through her abdomen, a mute scream ripping through her soul as she felt her life ebb away from her slowly but surely. His ultimate betrayal burned through her; she began to hate herself, seeing how she had been used as a pawn in his game. But it wasn’t his face that floated to her mind as it grew dark but Brynjolf’s. 

And a tear slid down her cheek. 

# 

Faces twisted and contorted before her eyes, from kind to evil, from evil to concerned to angry. The past intermingled with the present and disrupted the peace she had found. She heard a woman’s cries as well as a baby crying just beyond. Images that caused her pain appeared before her eyes, images that caused her great anger as well. She found herself floating between consciousness and sleep and only wishing for the deep sleep of death. She vaguely felt being picked up and carried; she imagined her crumpled body landing by Gallus’s corpse, both victims to one man’s desire for wealth and power. 

The warmth of a fire stirred her to consciousness; the pain in her abdomen made her sit up, reaching to feel for her dagger. 

“Easy,” she heard, “easy.” She recognized the voice as Karliah’s. “Don’t get up so quickly. How are you feeling?” 

Her eyes narrowed as her vision cleared. “How do you expect me to feel after being shot with a poisoned arrow and then stabbed?” she snapped. “You fucking shot me!” 

“No, I saved your life,” the elf said matter-of-fact like. “That arrow was tipped with a unique paralytic poison.” She crossed her arms. “It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out. Had I intended to kill you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

Meliandra shook her head. “Why bother saving me?” 

“My original intention was to use that arrow on Mercer, but I never had a clear shot. I made a split-second decision to get you out of the way and it prevented your death.” 

“You should have shot Mercer instead,” she grumbled. 

The Dunmer replied dryly, “I promise you, the thought crossed my mind. The poison on that arrow took me a year to perfect; I only had enough for a single shot.” 

Meliandra sighed. “Then I guess I am in your debt.” 

“More than you’ll ever realize. All I had hoped was to capture Mercer alive.” 

“After what he’s done, why?” she asked irritably. 

“Because Mercer must be brought before the Guild to answer for what he’s done. He needs to pay for Gallus’s murder.” 

“And how do you expect to prove that now?” 

Karliah leaned back against the boulder she sat against. “My purpose in using Snow Veil Sanctum to ambush Mercer wasn’t simply for irony’s sake. Before both of you arrived, I recovered a journal from Gallus’s remains. I suspect the information we need is written inside.” 

“So? What’s it say?” 

Karliah shook her head. “I wish I knew. The journal is written in some sort of language I’ve never seen before.” 

“Perhaps someone can translate it?” 

A look of realization dawned on her face as she said, “Enthir.” At Meliandra’s confused look she continued, “Gallus’s friend at the College of Winterhold. Of course! It’s the only outsider Gallus trusted with the knowledge of his Nightingale identity.” 

“There’s that damn word again. ‘Nightingale.’” 

The elf nodded. “There were three of us. Myself, Gallus, and Mercer. We were an anonymous splinter of the Thieves Guild in Riften. Perhaps I’ll tell you about it later.” 

“What was Gallus like?” 

Karliah smiled. “He was a scholar, a master thief and a natural leader. Everyone respected him and followed him without question. It was Gallus who inducted me into the Nightingales and honed my skills to a razor-sharp point. I owe everything to him. We were,” she paused, “very close.” 

“You two were lovers?” 

She nodded. “Gallus once said he felt comfortable around me; able to let his guard down. I can’t help but think that I’m responsible for happened to him.” She looked at the Breton in the eye. “But, right now you need to head for Winterhold with the journal and get it translated.” She handed Meliandra what she assumed was Gallus’s journal. 

“What? You’re not coming with me?” 

Karliah shook her head. “I’m afraid not; there are preparations to make and Gallus’s remains to lay to rest. I promise to join you there as soon as I can. Remember, speak only to Enthir. Trust no one else.” 

#

Brynjolf sat at the table in the cistern; he had returned late in the night to discover that both Mercer and Meliandra had taken off the day previous, apparently having had a major break in the mystery surrounding Goldenglow. From what Etienne said, Mercer had gotten visibly angry when Meliandra had come back from Solitude. An uneasy feeling had been gnawing at him ever since. He heard the door slam and looked up to see an angry Mercer hurrying in toward the desk; the fat that Meliandra was not with him caused his heart to race. He approached the guild master cautiously. “Mercer?” he ventured. 

Angry eyes glared at him. “Do you know why that little tramp you brought in was so damn good?”

Brynjolf looked confused. “Meli?” 

Mercer sneered. “Yes, your little ‘Meli’. Turns out she’s in league with Karliah.” 

“Karliah?!” 

“Yes. Karliah. I was completely taken by surprise, led into an ambush by that Dibellian whore. She had all of us fooled.” 

Brynjolf’s thoughts swirled in his head. “It can’t be. How? Why?” He shook his head. 

“Why? Because that elf bitch isn’t finished with me and she needed someone on the inside. Come on Brynjolf, you knew Karliah. You know she’s one of the best at what she did and obviously still does.” 

“But Meliandra? How?” 

“Stop thinking with your dick, Brynjolf! Gallus couldn’t and see where it got him?” 

He clenched his fists as Mercer’s words settled in and he acknowledged to himself that Meliandra could have learned all that she knew from the Dunmer, she could have been groomed for this for years. He took a deep breath and continued, “What happened?” 

“I barely got out of there alive, that’s what happened. That little whore led me straight into a trap of Karliah’s making. I found myself having to fight the both of them. I’m sure your whore bled out since Karliah disappeared when I gained the upper hand, just like the coward she is.” 

Brynjolf felt as if all the oxygen disappeared from his lungs; he did not want to think she was dead. He wanted her to face the charges Mercer was leveling against her, he wanted her to answer for what she’s done. He just didn’t want her to be dead. 

“Change the lock on the graveyard entrance; tell Dirge to be on the lookout out there.” 

“What are you going to do, Mercer?” asked the Nord. 

Mercer looked at him, a look of pure hatred in his eyes. “I’m going to finally end this.” 

# 

She shut the door quickly to keep the blowing cold outside and embraced the warmth of the fire in the center of the inn. Snow fell from the fur lining of her hooded cloak. Her Breton blood was not accustomed to the cold of this part Skyrim; she longed for the warmth of the southern lands more. She made her way to the counter where an older man stood, wiping off plates. 

“What can I do for you, stranger? Here for the College?” 

“Actually, looking for someone in the College. I’m looking for a guy by the name of Enthir.” 

He nodded towards a table back by the door where a man sat, eating and reading a book. 

“Thanks,” she replied, putting a few gold coins on the counter before walking over to the Bosmer. She sat down across from him and before he could object she said, “Hello, Enthir. I’ve been sent here by Karliah.” 

He looked at her shocked for a moment then he regained his composure. “Karliah? Then she finally found it. Do you have Gallus’s journal?” 

Nodding, she answered, “I do, but there’s a problem.” 

“A problem?” he repeated as he dusted the bread crumbs from his fingers. “Let me see it.” 

She pulled the worn and tattered leather bound book out from her pack; she had wrapped it in the pelt of a snow fox. He took the book and carefully opened it, looking at the pages meticulously. 

“This is just like Gallus. A dear friend, don’t get me wrong, but always too clever for his own good.” He sighed. “He’s written all of the text in the Falmer language.” 

“The Falmer language?” she repeated. At his nod, she continued, “So you can’t translate it then?” 

He smiled though there was no humor in it. “No. However, I know of someone who might. The court wizard of Markarth, Calcelmo, may have the materials you need to get this journal translated. A word of warning, though. Calcelmo is a fierce guardian of his research. Getting the information won’t be easy.” 

“Why’d he write his journal in Falmer?” 

The wood elf chuckled. “Besides the fact that there are only a handful of people in Tamriel that even recognize that language?” There was a light that shone in his eyes as he continued, “I’m fairly certain he was planning some sort of a heist that involved a deep understanding of the Falmer language. Unfortunately, we never had the opportunity to speak about the details.” 

She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “Where’d he learn the language to be able to use it?” 

He shrugged as he answered, “Ironically, I pointed him in the same direction I pointed you. To Markarth and Calcelmo. I’m only hoping whatever means he used to learn the language will still be available to you.” 

“What was he like?” 

A forlorn look appeared on the Bosmer’s face. “He was a dear friend of mine and a surprisingly astute pupil of academia.” A shadow of grief crossed his face. “I was devastated when he was killed. I suppose that risk always coexisted with his line of work, I just never thought his luck would run out.” 

“He was an academic?” she asked, surprised. “But why did he choose to be a thief then?” 

He laughed. “For the same reasons that you’re a thief. For the thrill of it. He was quite clear that he felt more in his element climbing through a window rather than hunched over a dusty tome.” 

“How’d you two meet?” 

He chuckled again, a sparkle coming to his eyes. “Quite an amusing anecdote actually. I caught him trying to break into my laboratory. I was about to show him the error of his ways when he made a curiously astute comment about my research notes. I was astounded and in turn, it led to a conversation. Who’d have imagined it would lead to such a strong friendship?” 

She nodded. “Thanks for indulging my curiosity, Enthir. I’d best be on my way to Markarth; there’s a lot riding on this?” 

#

She sat near the fire at the inn in Markarth, drinking a mulled cider as she listened to the young Nord across from her talk to the inn keeper. “The Jarl is refusing to dispatch men to the front lines. Do you think it’s because of the Forsworn of the Forsworn threat?”

Kleppr grumbled. “Please. Those savages are no match for us. The Jarl is just biding his time.” 

“Biding his time for what? Until another person is lying dead in the streets like Margaret?” He snorted. “Don’t be naïve.” He noticed Meliandra watching him. “You know,” he said to her, “you can’t be too careful these days, with the war and other dangers. A pretty lady like yourself might find herself in need of help.” 

“Are you offering your protection?” 

“Well, see, some call me a mercenary but I like to think of myself as a soldier of fortune or a freelance adventurer for hire. Make me an offer, and I just might fight at your side.” 

“Five hundred.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Five hundred gold, that’s my offer.” 

“That’s a fair price. My blade is yours.” 

“Good. We head out in the morning.” 

# 

She dropped the stick of charcoal onto the floor and quickly rolled up the piece of paper, stashing it in her pack. She heard Vorstag calling her name in a hushed tone as the door below they shut. She poked her head to the side and saw a few of the wizard’s guards enter with Calcelmo’s nephew. She motioned for Vorstag to follow her as she made her way along the far wall, opposite of the direction the guards were headed. 

“Yes, I’m positive I heard something,” she heard him say. 

“I…oh, all right. If there is a thief, he won’t leave this tower alive. But shouldn’t we inform Master Calcelmo?” 

She glanced at Vorstag and smiled, holding her finger to her lips. She pointed to his boots which she had enchanted to muffle his steps and winked. She handed him a bottle of invisibility potion, indicated he should drink it, then drank her own. The two invisible figures crept out of the room and onto the balcony, quickly making their way of the Dwemer Museum and into the streets of Markarth. She looked at him as they approached the city gates. “I have to head east, to Winterhold. I’d appreciate an extra pair of eyes to watch the road. You up for it?” 

He smiled at her. “If you still need my blade, I’ll stay with you.” 

She smiled back at him as she patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll make this worth your while. I promise you.”


	12. Answers Only Bring More Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karliah and Meliandra get closer to exposing Mercer and his betrayal to the Guild. Meliandra wrestles with her own demons.

The carriage pulled up outside the broken-down house right on the outskirts of Winterhold; the horse snorting its displeasure in the falling snow. Vorstag gently shook Meliandra awake; her eyes were suddenly alert and she sat up quickly. She hurriedly thanked the carriage driver and climbed down, grabbing her pack on her way down. Vorstag watched her every movement, studying her. She had said very little about who she was or where she came from but her silence spoke a thousand words. 

They walked into the Frozen Hearth to find it nearly empty. She pointed to a table and said, “Wait for me here.” When he gave her a concerned look she continued, “I’ll be okay. I’ve got to talk to someone here. Shouldn’t take me too long.” He grudgingly nodded and sat at the table signaling the innkeeper he wanted to order something. Meliandra reached into her coin purse and pulled out a handful of coins. “Here, it’s on me. Order whatever you want.” 

He watched as she stopped and asked the innkeeper a question on her way towards the back, then headed down the stairs. He could tell she was running from something or someone. She acted as if she had done so much wrong that there was no forgiveness for her. He could not help but wonder what were the scars on her soul that weighed so heavy upon her that her tortured thoughts had cried out in her sleep? 

#

Karliah and Enthir were talking at the table at the far end of the room beneath the inn. As she approached, the Bosmer said, “You’re back. How’s our old friend Calcelmo?” 

“Neurotic which I assume for him is normal.” She pulled out the roll of paper and handed it to Enthir. “This should help translate Gallus’s journal.” 

He took the paper, an eyebrow arched. “I suppose it would be inappropriate of me to ask how you obtained this, so I simply won’t.” He walked around the table and unrolled the paper. “A rubbing, eh?” he asked as he placed a few objects on the corners to hold it down. “Odd. I expected notes.” 

She tilted her head and arched her own eyebrow. “It’s quite the tale.” 

Enthir nodded his head, murmuring, “I understand. Now, let me take a good look at this.” He pulled out Gallus’s journal and began to set himself to work translating his friend’s thoughts and feelings. “Hmm,” he would say every so often, nodding or shaking his head. “This is highly intriguing, but highly disturbing.” He set the journal down and continued, “It appears that Gallus had suspicions about Mercer’s allegiance to the Guild for months. Gallus had begun to uncover what he calls an ‘unduly lavish lifestyle replete with spending vast amounts of gold on personal pleasures’.” 

“Does the journal say where this wealth came from?” asked a quiet Karliah. 

Enthir turned a couple pages in the journal then answered, “Yes. Gallus seems certain that Mercer had been removing funds from the Guild’s treasury without anyone’s knowledge.” 

“Anything else, Enthir? Anything about…the Nightingales?” 

A thoughtful look appeared on his face and then he turned a few pages again. “Yes, here it is.” He cleared his throat. “The last few pages seem to describe ‘the failure of the Nightingales’ although it doesn’t go into great detail. Gallus also repeatedly mentions his strong belief that Mercer desecrated something known as the Twilight Sepulcher.” 

There was a sharp intake of breath from the Dunmer. “Shadows preserve us. So it’s true.” 

Enthir looked at Karliah. “I’m not familiar with the Twilight Sepulcher. What is it?” Then, suddenly exasperated, he snapped, “What’s Mercer Frey done?” 

She shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, Enthir. All that matters is we deliver your translation to the Guild immediately. Farewell. Words can’t begin to express.” 

He shook his head again, but in understanding. “It’s alright, Karliah. You don’t have to say a word.” Enthir and Meliandra watched as Karliah walked out of the room. As the door shut behind her, the Bosmer looked at the Breton. “Listen, all I want is the truth to be revealed to the Guild. They respected Karliah, and she deserves better. Do whatever you can and I’d consider it a personal favor.” 

Meliandra nodded. “Thank you, Enthir.” She went to follow Karliah upstairs, her mind swimming with the information she had just heard. Unspoken questions she had had were starting to answer themselves. She angry about having been a pawn in this quest of Mercer’s for power, she was angry for everything she had lost because of him. What had she done to deserve this betrayal by him, his desire for her death? The more she thought about it, the more it angered her, the more it grew inside her, poisoning her soul. All she wanted was for that bastard to pay for everything he’s done. 

She found Karliah sitting at the bar, a sad look on her face but eyes full of determination. The older thief looked at her and said in a hushed voice. “We must hasten to Riften before Mercer can do any more damage to the Guild.” 

“Gallus’s journal said something about the ‘Twilight Sepulcher’.” 

She sighed. “You’ve come this far, so I see no harm in concealing it any longer. The Twilight Sepulcher is the temple to Nocturnal. It’s what the Nightingales are sworn to protect with their lives.” 

“Why does it need that kind of protection?” 

“Everything that represents Nocturnal’s influences contained within the walls of the Sepulcher. Now it seems Mercer’s broken his oath with Nocturnal and defiled the very thing he swore to protect.” 

Meliandra ordered an ale and looked at the elf. “Thieves and temples.” She took a pull off the bottle and continued, “It just doesn’t add up.” 

Karliah gave a little smile. “I felt the same way when Gallus first revealed these things to me. I think given time, you’ll understand what I mean.” 

The Breton shook her head. “I’d understand better if there were less mystery involved.” 

“As a Nightingale, I’ve been sworn to secrecy regarding the Sepulcher. I know the Guild doesn’t do much to foster faith, but I’m going to have to ask that you continue to trust me.” 

“Trust you.” She chuckled sardonically. “I’ve been doing nothing but trust everyone and what’s it got me?” She took another drink. “A price on my head, an attempt on my life, and oh so much more. All because I trusted the wrong person. Again.” 

Sudden realization dawned on Karliah’s face. “You were sleeping with him.” 

Meliandra drained the rest of her ale then looked at her squarely in the eyes. “Yeah, I was. It’s a mistake I intend to rectify.” She paused then continued. “Look, we’ll do it your way. For now.” 

The older woman nodded. “I’ll make for Riften and scout the situation; see if I can discover what Mercer’s up to. When you’re ready, meet me at the Ragged Flagon. In the meantime, I wanted you to have this.” She placed a sword in front of her; the cross guard embossed with a nightingale in flight, its wings spread wide. “It belonged to Gallus, but given the circumstances, I think he’d approve.” 

Meliandra picked up the sword and admiring it, said, “I’ll put it to good use.” 

“If the Guild isn’t willing to listen to reason, you might have to.” With that she turned and left. Meliandra looked at the innkeeper and said, “I need a room for me and my friend. We are not to be disturbed.” 

“Not a problem,” he answered. 

She waved for Vorstag to follow then went into the room she had just paid for. She took off her armor, leaving only a simple tunic on, and sat on the bed, opening the pack beside her. She looked through the small number of belongings she had with her until she found the small black bottle of a concoction she had the alchemist at the Hag’s Cure make for her while she was in Markarth. She held the bottle in her hand for a moment, thinking of its contents and what it would do but she had little choice in the matter. Mercer had made the decision for her, she only had to let go. She popped the cork, looked at Vorstag as he walked in the room, said, “Bottom’s up,” and drank the vile potion. 

# 

Riften was dark, lit only by the torches that hung on the outside of the buildings. The occasional guard walked along the wooden walkways as the water slapped the sides of the walls below. Meliandra stood on the banks of Lake Honrich outside Riften, staring at the walls of a place she had called home. She couldn’t understand why once again it seemed that things were going in the right direction only to have everything fall apart. She had been taken advantage of and used while she had been here, but she had been happy in this rundown city. She knew that the person she had been before now no longer existed. Too much had been taken from her. The only thing she saw was her vengeance.   
She heard the twig snap just as she felt the tip of the blade poking into her side and suddenly there was a firm grip around her throat. “I have half a mind to run you through right here, right now,” Brynjolf’s voice sounded in her ear. 

“Then why don’t you?” she asked through clenched teeth. “I’m sure Mercer has ordered for me to be taken care of in-house and to be killed on sight.” 

“Because I want answers, dammit.” Angst filled his voice, but his hold remained, firm and he did not move the dagger at her side. “How long have you been working with Karliah? Was everything just some fucking ruse?” 

“I don’t know what Mercer told you but I guarantee it was a lie,” she sneered, “He’s been lying to you all –“ She felt Brynjolf’s fingers tighten around her throat a little more. 

“Why would Mercer lie to the Guild?” 

“Because he doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself. There’s more-“ His fingers clenched again making her stop. 

“You’re lying to me, bitch.”

She felt the sharpness of the tip of the blade pushing harder against her side. Her reflexes were quicker than he had anticipated. Her free hand shot up to his hand that held her throat, grabbing his wrist as she quickly twisted to the side, flipping him over her shoulder. Dropping to one knee that now rested upon his chest, she pulled her dagger and held it to his throat. The ebony dagger rested against his skin; he could make out the family crest upon its hilt through the corner of his eye and recognized the weapon as the one she had won off him when they first met. He looked up at his one-time lover, shock on his face. “You have the audacity to ask me if everything was a ruse when you’re the one who betrayed me. You don’t get that right. Now you tell Mercer that we’re coming for him and then, Brynjolf, then you’ll get your answers.” 

# 

Mercer grabbed the bag he had just filled and headed out of Riftweald. It was definitely time to head out of town for good; he had never expected Karliah to return and her reappearance had completely thrown his plans into disarray. And since Meliandra knew the truth of what happened twenty-five years previous, he saw no other option but to rid himself of her as well. A piece of ass was just a piece of ass and easily gotten anywhere. 

He turned to head out of the side gates of the city but caught a glimpse of Karliah in the moonlight peeking through the trees. ‘Damn,’ he thought to himself as he turned around to head toward the main gates. He needed to hurry and get out of town quickly.

#

Meliandra had Vorstag wait for her at the Bee and Barb before she ventured down into the Ratway. Her anxiety had risen but her thoughts were focused on what had to be done. She pulled her hood further down and walked into the Flagon. She saw Karliah sitting on a crate in the shadows; she appeared deep in thought. Once she stood before the Dunmer, the silence was broken. 

“I’m glad you’re finally here. I think some of these people are beginning to suspect who I am.” She stood up. “Are you ready to face the Guild?” At her nod, Karliah continued, ‘Keep your eyes open then. I’m not sure what to expect when we enter the cistern."

Each step she took sounded like it echoed off the walls. Her heart began to beat harder, drumming its way through her chest. She felt as if every eye was on them. She kept expecting for someone to stop them. But no one did. 

It seemed like it took an eternity to get to the door that separated the Flagon from the cistern but there it was. Karliah put her hand on the handle, looked at her and nodded. She nodded back as they walked in.


	13. The Innkeeper

The innkeeper sat at the table in the secret cellar of the inn amongst a pile of books and journals filled with notes. Her brain swam with the information she had been reading most of the night. She wished she had paid more attention to the old man while he had been around. Who would have ever believed that his ranting that they had all chalked up to craziness was actually true? 

Suddenly a thought occurred to her and she began to look through the stack of journals, flipping through the pages until she found what she was looking for. She hurriedly packed a bag; it was time to use some of those favors Farengar owed her.


	14. Vindication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra and Karliah clear their names; Meliandra searches for Mercer's whereabouts. Tensions are thick between Brynjolf and Meliandra.

The three of them stood just inside the passageway from the Flagon to the Cistern. They had been alert ever since Brynjolf had come back late last night after his run in with Meliandra; he had come back to discover Mercer was nowhere to be found, a fact that disturbed him more than he cared to admit. Delvin, Vex and himself had positioned themselves here with orders to Dirge, Vekel and Tonila to let Karliah and Meliandra through but to prevent them from leaving. Now, hours later they heard the handle on the door, pulled their weapons and waited as the door opened. 

He saw the face of his one-time friend, Karliah; his anger started to rise. This woman had taken the life of the only man who had been like a father to him. Then he saw Meliandra walking in behind her. While his pride was still wounded from the previous night’s encounter, he had locked his feelings for her away. 

“I told you that you couldn’t trust her,” came Vex’s voice from behind him. 

He shot a glance to the blonde then turned his attention back to Meliandra. “You better have a damn good reason to be here with that murderer.” 

Karliah held both her hands out, empty. “Please,” she said softly, “lower your weapons so we can speak. I have proof that you’ve all been misled.” 

Brynjolf looked at the Dunmer then back at Meliandra. She held her hands out to show that they, too, were empty. “No tricks, Karliah, or I’ll cut you down where you stand.” His eyes drilled into the Breton’s then he looked back at the elf. “now what’s this ‘so-called’ proof you speak of?” 

“I have Gallus’s journal. I think you’ll find its contents disturbing.” 

“Let me see.” She handed him a pelt wrapped book; he recognized the pelt as being one Meliandra carried with her in her belongings, one she considered very valuable. She wouldn’t wrap just anything in this pelt. He glanced briefly at her, pulled the journal out and begun skimming through the pages, paying attention to the translated words before him. As he read he could not believe what he was seeing. He shook his head. “No, it… it can’t be. This can’t be true.” He looked at the two women before him, a look of disbelief upon his face. “I’ve known Mercer too long….” 

“It’s true, Brynjolf,” Karliah said. “Every word. Mercer’s been stealing from the Guild for years, right under your noses.” 

He shook his head. “There’s only one way to find out if what the lass says is true. Delvin, I’m gonna need you to open up the Vault.” He headed toward the large bolted doors on the other side of the Cistern. Vex fell into step behind him followed by Delvin. 

“Wait a god damned blessed minute, Bryn. What the fuck is in that book? What the bloody hell does it say?” 

“It says Mercer’s been stealing from our vault for years. Apparently, Gallus was looking into it before he was murdered.” 

“How can Mercer open up a vault that needs two keys?” Delvin asked incredulously. “it’s impossible. Could he pick the lock?” He looked at Vex. 

She snorted as she glared at Meliandra. “That door has the best puzzle lock money can buy. There’s no way it can be picked open.” 

“He didn’t need to pick the lock,” Karliah said matter-of-factly. 

Delvin looked over at Brynjolf, confused. “What’s she on about?” 

Brynjolf looked back at Karliah and Meliandra and shook his head. “Use your key on the vault, Delvin.” He narrowed his eyes at the two accused slightly. “We’ll open this bitch up and find out the truth.” 

Delvin nodded and walked up to the door, took out his key and unlocked his lock. He tried the door. “There. I’ve used my key, but the vault is still locked up tighter than a drum. Use yours, Bryn.” 

Brynjolf approached the vault door and unlocked his lock; he opened the vault. “By the Eight!” he shouted. “It’s gone! Everything is gone!” He stood in the middle of the vault looking around him. “Get in here. All of you!” 

Delvin was the first to walk in, his face in complete shock. “The gold; the jewels. It’s…it’s gone.” 

“That son-of-a-bitch!” Vex stared at the complete emptiness of the vault, her voice echoing against the stone walls. “I’ll kill him!” Her hand held her dagger before anyone realized it. 

“Vex!” Brynjolf snapped. “Put it away!” At her hesitation, he demanded, “Right now. We can’t afford to lose our heads… we need to calm down and focus.”

Delvin looked at his partner. “Do what he says, Vex. This isn’t helpin’ right now.” 

The blonde reluctantly sheathed her dagger. “fine. We do it your way. For now.” 

Brynjolf spoke firmly and sternly, the weight of the Guild’s future resting on his shoulders. “Delvin, Vex… watch the Flagon. If you see Mercer, come tell me right away.”   
Delvin nodded; Vex balked but followed. Karliah walked out of the vault while Meliandra began to follow. Brynjolf’s heart sank as his words to her came back to him. “Meli,” he called out softly. She hesitated, then turned to him. Her eyes were cold and hard as she looked at him. He slowly approached her, waiting for them to be alone. “He said he killed you.” 

“He tried.” Her voice was bitter. “If it weren’t for Karliah, he would have succeeded.” 

He reached for her arm but drew back at her withering look. “I’m sorry, Meli.” He swallowed. “Look, before I have you help track mercer down, I need to know what you learned from Karliah.” He met her eyes. “I mean everything.” 

“Karliah was behind Goldenglow and Honningbrew,” she said flatly. 

“Trying to make Mercer look bad in front of Maven, eh? Clever lass. Anything else?” 

She nodded. “Mercer killed Gallus, not Karliah.” 

He nodded. “Aye. I figured that was the case. From that last entry in Gallus’s diary, it looks like he was getting close to exposing Mercer to the Guild.” He paused. “Is that it?”   
The Breton sighed and shook her head, hesitating. “Meli, tell me.” 

“Look, there are things Karliah spoke to me that were said in the strictest of confidence.” She looked down for a moment then directly in his eyes. “Gallus, Karliah, and Mercer were Nightingales.” 

He blinked. “Excuse me? What? Nightingales?” He ran his hand through his hair. “I always assumed they were just a tale… a way to keep the young footpads in line.” He smiled at the thought. “Is that everything?” 

She nodded. 

“Meli, I’m sorry but there’s something I need you to do.” She looked at him, her eyes narrowed, her jaw set. “I need you to get into Mercer’s house and search for anything that could tell us where he’s gone.” 

“Mercer’s house?” 

He nodded. “Aye. Riftweald.” 

“Riftweald is his house?” she asked, surprised. 

Brynjolf looked to the side, his eyes downcast as he said, “So, you have been there then.” 

She stared at him. “Yes, I have. You don’t think we screwed only at the Bee and Barb now did you?” she snapped. 

“Dammit, Meli,” he snapped back. “This isn’t the time to throw shit at each other.” She looked away. “Look, this is the last place I want to send you, lass. Just find a way in, get the information and leave. And you have permission to kill anyone that stands in your way.” 

She turned and started to walk away. “Whatever. I’ve got this.” 

# 

She worked quickly, picking the lock to gain entrance to Riftweald. The detect life spell she had cast moments before told her that Vald was on the side of the steps. She slowly made her way across the yard, her dagger in hand. His back was turned to her; her hand clamped over his mouth as she drew her blade across his neck, severing the jugular and spraying blood across the wall. 

She removed the key from Vald’s pocket; then fired off a shot from her bow to collapse the ramp so she could get inside. She took a deep breath and crept into the house. She muffled her steps and made her way to the door to the rest of the house, listening to one of the bandits singing a raunchy ballad. She drew an arrow and slowly opened the door; once she had the singing bandit in her sight, she released the arrow. He slumped forward against the bench in front of him. ‘Some people should not attempt to sing,’ she thought to herself. 

She heard grumbling, “…lyin’ little harlot… that brat ain’t mine… could be anyone’s… won’t get one rusty septim from me.” She snuck her way to the bedroom on the right. The bandit sat in front of the fire, drunk and oblivious to his comrade’s death outside this room. She drove her dagger into the base of his skull; his body immediately slumped as the blade cut through muscle, bone and tissue, severing the connection from his brain to his body. She wiped the blade clean on the corpse and headed to the one part of the house   
Mercer had never brought her to, the bottom floor. 

She knew she had heard lots of noises from down here at times when she had been with Mercer. She’d wake and find him coming up these stairs and he’d turn her away from there as he would hurry away. She paid no mind to the barred door but headed for the room, the area she had heard most noises coming from. She tried the door to find it unlocked. She walked in and looked around in confusion. A table laden with food sat in the middle of the room. She picked up a piece of paper on the table and read it. The paper fluttered down as she dropped it, its contents unimportant. She started opening drawers and searching when she heard a faint scratching sound from the closet. She cast a detect life spell and saw that there was something just behind the door. She drew her dagger again and opened the closet door. 

It was empty save for an old worn out pair of fur shoes. She heard the faint sound of scratching still then heard a slight whistling coming from the back of the closet. She pressed her ear to the back of the wood paneling only to have it start to move. Startled she stood back, then smiled as she saw the hidden room beyond. She stepped through, swiping away the cobwebs that hung off the walls by her face, watching her steps as she kept an eye open for traps. She found herself in tunnels like the Ratway; this bothered her for some reason. 

She started to step across the threshold into a large room when she realized the room was tiled completely in pressure plates; upon closer inspection, she could see where the piping was that flames would shoot forth from. She smiled remembering the games she played as a child; she sheathed her dagger and examined the floor and its patterns. 

Taking a deep breath, she darted across the plates, her feet hitting them softly. 

She shook her head as she looked at her surroundings. Another pressure plate in front of her, stagnant water beneath her feet, the stench of dead and rotting skeevers. To her side, she saw a freshly killed rodent, the scorch marks evident; it must have been the source of the scratching. 

Eventually she found herself in front of swinging blades and a log that sung down like a battering ram and reset itself to do it all over. “Yeah,” she said under her breath, “fuck you too, Mercer.” She watched for the pattern to the movements and was soon maneuvering her way through these defense mechanisms the master thief had laid out. Standing at the far end of the passageway she paused to take a drink of mead. She saw the steps going down and shook her head. This bastard better have left us something to find him by,” she mumbled. She put the empty bottle on a barrel and went down the stairs. 

She saw the trap lock as she reached for the handle of the door at the bottom of the steps. Se smirked; she knew the answers lay just beyond this door. Once she disabled the trigger, she carefully opened the door. Her eyes grew wide as she looked at the gems and gold, the weapons, the treasures stored in here. She noticed the bust of the Grey Fox in the corner; she remembered Delvin saying something about it recently. She approached the table, saw a map with notes on the side and a circle drawn over a location. She rolled up the map and slipped it into her satchel. She picked up the Grey Fox bust and followed the corridor off the side, curious to see where it led. At a dead-end there was only one way to go, down about eight feet. She braced herself for the fall. 

She recognized the Ratway Warrens immediately and headed for the Flagon entrance. Delvin looked over at her in surprise as she walked through; she shook her head at him and asked where Brynjolf was. She made her way to the desk in the Cistern where the redhead was looking through journals Mercer had left on the desk. 

At her approach, he looked up closing the journal in front of him. The words he read swam in front of his eyes as he gazed at the woman he had loved and lost. “We secured the town and I’ve spoken to every contact we have left. There’s been absolutely no sign of Mercer. Any luck on your end?” 

She nodded as she opened her satchel and retrieved the map. “He wasn’t there, but I found these plans.” 

Brynjolf took the map and looked it over; his eyes continued to grow large as he did. “Shor’s beard! He’s going after the Eyes of the Falmer?!” At her confused look, he explained,   
“That was Gallus’s pet project.” He shook his head. “If he gets his hands on them, you can be certain he’ll be gone for good and set up for life.” 

“Then we stop him,” she said flatly. 

He nodded. “Agreed. He’s taken everything that the Guild has left, and to go after one of the last greatest heists is just adding insult to injury. I’ve spoken with Karliah and have made amends for how the guild has treated her. She wants to speak to the both of us.” He came around the corner of the desk and put his hand on her shoulder. She quickened her step-in response. “Let’s go; we don’t have any time to lose,” he said as he dropped his hand. 

They saw Karliah mixing potions at the alchemy table and walked over to her in strained silence. He wanted to make his own amends to her but he got the impression that it was going to take a lot of time and patience to win her love back, but he was determined to do so. 

Karliah looked at the former couple, thinking about what Brynjolf had told her of what happened between them and was saddened. She, too, believed that it was going to take a while for the Nord to gain her trust again. “Brynjolf,” she said as she corked a potion, “the time’s come for Mercer’s fate to be decided. Until a new Guild Master is chosen, the decision falls to you.” 

The Nord sat on the bed by the table and looked at the two women. “Aye, lass and I’ve come to a decision.” He paused as Mercer’s written words filled with hate and greed came to mind. He looked at Meliandra as he said, “Mercer tried to kill both of you, he betrayed the Guild, murdered Gallus and he has made us question our very future.” He paused and looked at Meliandra again. “He needs to die.” 

Meliandra’s eyes remained cold and hard as she listened to Mercer’s fate be discussed. All she wanted was for his blood to drip from her blade. 

Karliah’s voice was cautionary as she said, “We have to be careful, Brynjolf. Mercer is a Nightingale, an Agent of Nocturnal.” 

His eyebrow arched. “Then it’s all true…everything I heard in the stories. The Nightingales, their allegiance to Nocturnal and the Twilight Sepulcher.” 

The Dunmer nodded. “Yes. That’s why we need to prepare ourselves and meet Mercer on equal footing. Just outside Riften, beyond the Southeast Gate is a small path cut up the mountainside. At the end of that path is a clearing and an old standing stone. I’d ask for you both to meet me there.” 

# 

Meliandra went to the Bee and Barb to the room she had rented for herself and Vorstag. As she emptied her pack of unnecessary items she explained to him what was happening. 

“I don’t like the sound of this,” he grumbled when she told him she was going to be leaving. She had offered to pay for him to stay at the inn until she returned. “I’d prefer to go along with you.” 

She looked at him confused. “Why? We’re going after someone who tried to kill me and who killed the previous Guild Master. This is Thieves Guild business.” 

“I don’t care if it were Dark Brotherhood business, Meliandra,” he said pointedly. “You hired me to be a sword at your side and now you want me to sit around while you meet your possible death?” 

She eyed Vorstag. “Careful. It’s starting to sound like you actually might like me.” 

“Divines forbid someone actually like you.” He smiled at her. “Meliandra, are you that scarred that you cannot let anyone become a friend?” 

She looked down at her pack, now only filled with soul gems and potions and sighed. “I’ve come to realize that when people become friends they hurt you more.” 

He sat down next to her and said, “You’re not cursed, Mel. I don’t know why you believe you’re somehow doomed to walk this world alone but I know you’re not tainted by something evil.” 

She looked at him and gave a slight smile. “It’s nice to know that you think that. You can believe it for the both of us.”


	15. Offerings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Meliandra travels to Irkngthand with Brynjolf and Karliah an unexpected visitor joins their group causing Brynjolf to doubt his ability to get Meliandra back. Meanwhile in Whiterun, the jarl is bothered by the nagging of his court wizard and his increasing loneliness.

Brynjolf listened to Karliah and Meliandra talk as they made their way through Nightingale Hall, watching Meliandra’s movements as she walked in front of him. He noticed she favored her left side and Mercer’s words of leaving her to bleed out came to his mind; he admired her drive and strength even more now. 

“Were they a part of the Thieves Guild?” Meliandra was asking about the Nightingale Trinity. 

“Indirectly, yes. The Trinity is usually selected from the ranks of the Guild although it’s existence is a closely-guarded secret.” 

“So, what’s their purpose?” 

“Well,” Karliah responded, “the Nightingales protect the temple of Nocturnal, a place known as the Twilight Sepulcher.” 

Meliandra’s response was dry. “I never met a thief who worshipped anything.” 

Karliah began to explain how Nocturnal influenced their luck and that in return she demanded payment. It made Brynjolf think of Delvin’s constant comments about the Guild being cursed. He shook his head as he thought about what Delvin’s reaction would be if he were hearing this they’d probably never hear the end of it. 

His mind drifted to conversations that he had had with Karliah in the past day. While he had made amends with her on the Guild’s behalf, he had also expressed to her his angst over his situation. He had shown her Mercer’s journal that had gone into great detail about how he was manipulating both Vex and Meliandra to get the Breton to rely solely upon him. It was the Dunmer that told him that Meliandra was driven by the desire to bring Mercer to his death, that there was something deep within the young woman that had birthed a hatred so large for the traitorous guild master that she feared Meliandra might slip into a dark place in her soul, one that would entrap her there; Brynjolf was determined to prevent that. 

“Religion and thieves make odd bedfellows,” the Breton was saying. 

Karliah shook her head. “This isn’t about religion or destiny. This is nothing more than a business transaction between yourself and Nocturnal. Consider this an extremely risky job but with a massive potential for profit, and you’ll do fine.” She smiled. 

Brynjolf looked around, saying, “So, this is Nightingale Hall. I heard about this place when I joined the Guild, but I never believed it existed.” 

The thief chuckled. “The assumption that the Nightingales were just myths was seeded within the Guild on purpose. It helped avert attention from our true nature.” She paused a moment, a smile upon her lips. “What’s wrong, Brynjolf? I can almost hear your brow furrowing.” 

Meliandra snorted as she glanced behind her, a hint of a mile to her eyes. Brynjolf caught sight of this and smiled to himself. He looked back to Karliah. “I’m trying to understand why I’m here. I’m no priest, lass, and I’m certainly not religious. Why pick me?” 

She took a deep breath. “This isn’t about religion, Brynjolf… it’s business.” 

She spread her hands out to show the room they stood in. There were cobwebs everywhere among furniture that had not been used in decades. “This is Nightingale Hall. You two are the first of the uninitiated to set foot inside in over a century. Now, if you’ll both proceed to the armory to don your Nightingale armor, we can begin the oath.” 

Brynjolf took the armor that Karliah handed him once they got to the armory and begun to change, calling out to Karliah in the next room, “Okay, so we’re putting these get-ups on. What next?” He looked down at himself and sighed. He preferred his normal attire. 

He turned the corner to see the two women in their Nightingale attire. He looked over Meliandra, appreciating the way the material hugged her form. He listened as Karliah explained to both him and Meliandra that in order to have Nocturnal’s blessing they’d have to come to an arrangement with the deity. He reluctantly agreed and followed her as they walked into a large room. He listened as the Dunmer petitioned Nocturnal and struck the deal that endowed her blessings upon them. His gaze kept going to his former lover and his thoughts dwelt upon Mercer’s words about her that he had written. And knowing that Mercer had been playing Vex against Meliandra from the beginning only infuriated him more. While the women were being played, he had been the only one in that triangle that wasn’t and he still managed to screw things up between himself and Meliandra. 

“Now that you’re transacted the Oath, it’s time to reveal the final piece of the puzzle to you; Mercer’s true crime. Mercer could unlock the Guild’s vault without two keys because of what he stole from the Twilight Sepulcher… the Skeleton Key. By doing this, he’s compromised our ties to Nocturnal and in essence, caused our luck to run dry.” She went on to explain what this key could do beyond its physical capabilities. The more he heard the angrier he got. 

“If the key isn’t returned to its lock in the Twilight Sepulcher,” Karliah was saying, “things will never be the same for the Guild. As time passed, our luck would diminish to the point of non-existence. And whether you know it or not,” she glanced at Brynjolf, “uncanny luck defines our trade.” 

“Yeah,” Meliandra stated slowly, “first time I’ve ever set out to return something.” 

“Very true. In our line of work, it’s quite rare we set out to return a stolen item to its rightful owner.” She held her hand out as Meliandra went to follow her out. “Meliandra, before we head out, Brynjolf has some business to discuss.” She spoke sternly. “I suggest you listen to him.” She turned and walked out. 

Meliandra turned and looked at him, her face questioning. She stayed standing where she was so he approached her, stopping an arm’s length away. “Listen, Meli. There’s one last piece of business we need to settle before we go after Mercer… the leadership of the Guild.” 

“Why discuss this with me? I won’t give you any flack, alright?” 

He shook his head. “That’s not what I’m saying, lass.” He looked at her, a lump in his throat. “Look, Karliah and I had a long discussion before you arrived here. Thanks to your effort, Mercer’s treachery has been exposed. After we deal with him, all that remains is restoring the Guild to its full strength.” He paused. He wasn’t sure how she was going to react and he was nervous. “As a result, we both feel that you’ve got the potential of replacing Mercer as leader of the Thieves Guild.” 

“Me?” Shocked filled her face. “What the hell? Why not you?”

He smiled as he answered, “I’ve been at this game for a long time, sweetheart. A very long time. I’ve stolen trinkets from nobles and have framed priests for murder. I’m good at what I do, maybe even one of the best.” He shrugged. “But it’s all I know. I’ve never been one to lead.” He gave a shake of his head. “Never desired it, never cared for it. Don’t want it.” 

“Don’t toy with me, Bryn. Is this some way of trying to make things right with me? If so, it’s not working. Forget the fact that you were screwing Vex while lying to me that there was nothing to worry about. You believed the lies Mercer told you. You were willing to kill me because of those lies. You think offering me Guild Master is going to make everything okay? Dream on.” She spun on her heel and stalked off.

#

Karliah led the way to Irkngthand, while Brynjolf took the rear as they made their way to the dwarven ruins that they believed the Eyes of the Falmer were in. She had surmised that Brynjolf’s offer hadn’t gone over will by the strained responses they both gave when either was asked anything. She knew this would prove to be troublesome in the future but was unsure how to even approach the situation. 

Suddenly she heard sounds of a fight, then Meliandra shouting for him to stop. She turned, her bow in hand and rushed back to the side of the road where Brynjolf had a familiar looking man on the ground, his dagger at the man’s throat. “Brynjolf, it’s fine. He’s a friend of Meliandra’s,” she said as she returned her bow to its place. She looked at the  
Breton. “You take care of this.” She took the Nord by the arm and led him away. 

Brynjolf removed his hood, his eyes angry as he stared at Meliandra as she spoke to the man. “Who is he?” he demanded. 

Karliah shook her head. “I don’t know. I saw him with Meliandra when we were in Winterhold, then again at Riften. That’s all I know.” 

He looked at her, his eyes pained. “Is there anything that I can do to make this right? Anything I can do to get her back?” 

Karliah’s only response was to sigh and look away. 

# 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Meliandra snapped at Vorstag. 

He picked himself up off the ground, looking off the path where his attacker stood and shook his head. “I told you, you hired me to fight by your side. I’m not about to let you go off without my blade by you.” 

“Well, this is a fine show of your ability now, isn’t it?” she snapped. 

He looked down sheepishly, then looked back up at her. “How’d he hear me? I’m wearing those boots you gave me, I don’t have anything on me but my shield and sword.” 

She sighed, “Because he’s a thief and has been at this a very long time; he knows exactly how to listen for sounds of others approaching.” She shook her head. “Divines preserve us. Fine. You feel like you’ve got to watch over me, fine. You can tag along until we get to Irkngthand, then you gotta wait for me. Swear to me, you won’t follow.” 

He sighed. “I swear.” 

She shook her head again, told him to wait and then walked back to Brynjolf and Karliah and explained to them what the plan was. Brynjolf’s pursed lips was the only sign of disapproval she saw; at one time, she would have given it more than a passing thought, but now it was nothing to her. She returned to Vorstag and they began to walk to Irkngthand in silence, her thoughts on Mercer and her revenge. 

#

Balgruuf listened to the impassioned argument his court wizard made even if he didn’t follow everything the man said. His mind wandered as he half listened, thinking of the demands Farengar asked of him, especially on his research on dragons. Ever since the dragon attack on Helgen the wizard had been nearly unbearable. Now he was asking for someone to hunt down some artifact related to the dragons. Then he thought of something. He sat up at his desk in his quarters. “Farengar, what was the name of that survivor from Helgen?” 

“That girl?” 

Balgruuf scowled at him. “That young lady, yes. What was her name?” 

“Mel something. Why?” The wizard looked bored as he started to make small bursts of flame appear above his hands.

Evenly the jarl said, “Because she survived a dragon attack. If we can find her perhaps she’ll go searching for this artifact that you’re seeking.” 

“Ah,” comprehension flashed upon his face as he extinguished his spells and stood up. “Very well. Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf. I’ll return to my research.” 

The jarl watched with slight irritation as the other man left; if it wasn’t for the fact he knew the wizard had expressed an interest in the widow Carlotta he would have believed that the man was a monk, possibly a eunuch. He thought a moment. ‘Mel? Melanie? Melody? Fuck, what was her name?’ He could see her raven hair, her hazel eyes, her shapely frame and once again he was reminded of his loneliness as he dwelled on the image of her in his mind. He rubbed his temples with his thumbs and closed his eyes. 

It had been seven winters since his wife died, six since his youngest child’s mother was taken during child birth. Nelkir, the youngest, was a dark child and it worried him. His worrisome nature over his son is what had kept him alone all these years, not making the same mistake he had before by bedding the wet-nurse who cared for his children. Six years of living celibate was wearing thin on him but women believed him to be cursed by Mara for his infidelity.

“Sir?”

He opened his eyes and saw his longtime friend, his Dunmer housecarl, Irileth. He gave a smile. “I’m fine. Just trying to remember the name of that survivor from Helgen.” 

“I remember her,” came the cool response. “Her name was Meliandra. She never did tell you why she was at Helgen.” 

He smiled at his housecarl’s concern; she worried about him too much, he knew. “Yes, that was it. Meliandra. And maybe you’ll get your answer when she answers the summons I’m sending to her.” 

“Farengar needs something found. She came to mind.” 

“Hmmmm.” 

“Send me a courier please, Irileth,” he said as he set about to writing to the young Breton asking her to come to Whiterun. He noted to himself the Dunmer’s disapproval but decided to ignore it. He sealed the paper with wax, applying his personal signet ring to the wax as it cooled. 

A courier entered, young, not more than a teen, not quite a man. Balgruuf handed him the letter and, describing the Breton, told him to deliver it to her and only her. He stood and stretched, a yawn escaping his lips. Seeing that the sun had set and the moons were illuminating the dark sky he made his way to his children’s quarters. He could hear his daughter complaining again; the thought crossed his mind once more how much like her mother she was and he frowned. 

“Father!” came Dagny’s voice as he walked in. She immediately started voicing her displeasure over a myriad of inconsequential inconveniences that occurred in her day; he nodded as he listened to her, assuring her that he’d make everything right. 

He spoke to Frothar next, his oldest. The boy reminded him of himself, always wanting to fight. While he was old enough to practice with a sword, he worried that the darkness that had touched the boy’s mother would touch him. They spoke of his day which he had spent watching the guards train in the yard. Frothar wanted to be a soldier; Balgruuf feared he might if the Empire did not quell Ulfric’s rebellion soon. 

Finally, he approached his youngest, Nelkir. As he did with the others, he sat on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Son?” He knew the boy was awake, he was not snoring like he did when he did sleep, but still he laid facing the wall, his back to his father. After a moment, the jarl stood up, bid his children good night and left their quarters, closing the door behind him. He nodded to the guard and retired to his own quarters, closing and locking the door behind him. 

He removed the circlet from his head and put it on the end table. Removing his cloak and beginning to undress, he stared at the now long empty spot on his bed, his loneliness setting back in. He laid upon the furs and closed his eyes. His thoughts found their way to the Breton again; his mind began to wander with the image of her. He found the more he saw her in his mind’s eye, the more aware he became of his growing frustrations. His hand found its way to his groin, his male member still flaccid but hardening. He began to stroke himself, undressing the woman in his mind, imagining what her young body looked like beneath the clothing she wore. He pictured her raven hair drenched in sweat as she rode atop of him; in his mind, he watched as her breasts bounced in time with his strokes. He imagined his name spilling of her lips as she moaned in pleasure as his dick filled her inside; his pulse began to race as he stroked harder and faster. In his mind’s eye, he saw her tilting her head back, a passion filled scream passing her lips as her body shuddered in a powerful orgasm, a pool of her juices flooding over him. He gave a couple hard pulls on himself and cum exploded from the head of his shaft; his body was racked with spasms as he came like a geyser. 

He laid there in his bed, his breath coming in short ragged breaths slowly leveling off to normal; his once racing heart now returned to its normal pulse. He hated this being alone. He longed for the warmth of a woman beside him, he yearned to fall asleep with a woman in his arms. 

He sighed as he opened his eyes, getting up from his bed, he walked over to his washbasin and began to clean himself off. He smiled as he thought ‘And dammit, it’d be a lot nicer to feel a woman around my dick than my own damn hand.'


	16. The Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra, Brynjolf, and Karliah seek out Mercer in the Dwarven ruins.

Brynjolf saw Mercer sneaking up on the Falmer down below the three of them; he felt his anger boil almost instantly. He started looking for a way directly down to the traitor he had once called brother, saying, “Damn it! There’s no way through!” They watched in horror as Mercer took his sword and drove it into the unsuspecting Falmer. Mercer glanced up at the trio before turning and heading out a door. 

“He’s toying with us,” Karliah realized aloud. “He wants us to follow.” 

“Aye, lass, that we will.” He sneered. “And we will be ready for him.” 

# 

Mercer saw the three hooded figures and smirked. 

Of course, Karliah was up there and from the broad shoulders of the one it appeared Brynjolf had transacted the Oath with Nocturnal. The third one he assumed was Meliandra, which was the reason behind his smirk. 

He was looking forward to killing her again. 

# 

Meliandra thrust her sword upwards into the Falmer’s side; she saw the tip of the blade puncture through his ribcage. She put her foot upon the dead body and shoved the corpse off her blade, immediately seeking out her companions as they fought a pair of Falmer. She watched as Brynjolf’s dagger pierced the skull of one as Karliah’s arrows pinned another to the wall. She sheathed her sword and waited by the passageway further into the ruins. 

Her ears picked up the soft sounds of pebbles cascading down the ruin walls and held her hand up, signaling the others to keep quiet. She crept forward, her steps measured and soft. They turned a corner and saw a Falmer tent among toppled Dwarven towers. She looked around, trying to discern the best path that they should take. 

Brynjolf’s voice was right behind her as she heard him whisper, “Looks like we can take the low road,” he said as he pointed to a path through the center, “or we can take the high road to get across this chamber,” and he pointed to some paths along the side that brought them high above the expanse. “Your choice.” 

She nodded to Brynjolf as she silently reached around to her back and took ahold of her bow. She took an arrow and nocked it into place, drawing it back slowly as she aimed for the Falmer that she had seen coming out of one of the tents. The arrow whistled through the air as it raced to the middle of the twisted creature’s back, causing him to fall forward. A moment later an arrow landed by her feet. Karliah’s arrow found the perched Falmer above them and a hard thud soon echoed in the chamber. 

They made their way through, picking off the accursed descendants of the Snow Elves one by one. Each swing of her sword raised her irritation. She wanted Mercer on the receiving end of her sword. She wanted to see his blood dripping off her blade as he bled out beneath her feet. Partially through, a loud rumbling echoed through the chamber as the floor beneath them shook. They dodged falling chunks of marble as more towers fell and parts of the wall rained down around them. They finally found their way through a door out of the chamber and away from the crumbling structure. 

Karliah looked at the two of them as she shut the door behind her. “The only reason to collapse the tower would be to block pursuit. It has to be Mercer.” 

“Aye,” came Brynjolf’s reply. “Let’s find him before he brings this whole place down.” 

Further in they ventured, an eeriness settling throughout these Falmer infested Dwarven ruins. Death permeated the air as they came across the bloody path Mercer had left behind. They avoided the bear traps he seemingly left along the way, barely missing the first few ones.

Before them was a monstrosity of a Dwarven construct, the sight alone made Meliandra gasp in shock. “Fuck! What in Oblivion is that?!” 

The Dwarven gold glinted in the light of the fires as Falmer bustled around it. In the distance, she made out the form of a chaurus hunter and swore under her breath. She still bore the scar from a run-in with the winged creatures as a youth, one she only escaped because of her mother and the Redguard family they were traveling with. She swallowed nervously. 

“It’s a Dwarven Centurion,” Karliah answered. “Very tough and very deadly.” 

“We can take the beast on or sneak around,” Brynjolf said. “It’s your call, Meli. We’re right behind you.” 

“Let’s try and sneak past,” she said as bravely as she could. She drew her sword, “Karliah, cover me with your bow; Bryn, you cover Karliah.” 

She began to creep forward. 

# 

Brynjolf nodded as he drew his sword and proceeded to guard Karliah as they made their attempt to cross the expanse of this chamber without waking up the Centurion. He heard the false bravado in Meliandra’s voice, he hoped she wasn’t going to break. Suddenly he heard the sound of hissing steam and metal upon metal moving as the Centurion moved its long idle joints, stepping outside of its housing unit. This alerted the Falmer that something was amiss. “By the Eight,” he muttered as Karliah released the arrow nocked in her bow at an advancing Falmer. What followed was chaos. 

From the corner of his eye he saw his companions fighting off multiple enemies. Seemingly out of nowhere Meliandra had a second sword and was dancing her way through the throng, circling around their attackers, bringing her swords crashing down upon them, spraying her in their blood. 

He found the Falmer were easily taken care of as he flung one into the path of an attacking chaurus hunter, impaling it upon the stinger. Suddenly blood and guts sprayed across Brynjolf as Meliandra brought her swords down in a crisscross motion upon the flying beast. 

All that remained was the Centurion. Brynjolf rushed towards the automation, both his blades drawn. The three of them attacked with a renewed vigor and such strength that in no time they had brought the thing crashing down. He leaned against the giant arm, catching his breath. He suddenly felt warmth on his side where a Falmer’s sword had cut into him; his eyes snapped open to see Meliandra, mask less, crouched next to him and casting a healing spell on him. Soon the blood had stopped and the skin was quickly stitching itself back together. He started to thank her but she walked away, dropping into a crouch as she neared the tent off in the distance. He sighed as he stood up and joined Karliah in following the Breton. 

After killing a pair of skeevers, they continued their journey. Climbing a set of stone steps, they looked around, trying not to alert any Falmer that might still be around. Just as Brynjolf realized where they were standing, Karliah mentioned that Mercer must be close. They made their way through, killing a few frostbite spiders and a couple more Falmer until they came to the doors that they had seen Mercer go through. Taking a deep breath, Brynjolf opened the doors and walked through. 

# 

He pulled his sword out of the accursed creature, a sneer on his face. As he sheathed it, he looked at the head of the statue of the Snow Elf high above him, one giant gem still glinting in the light of the fires around the room. His sneer grew into a smirk as he made his way to claim the right eye. 

He worked quickly, knowing that the bear traps he had left along the way would only slow down his pursuers for so long before they made their way here. He planned on being out of here by then. 

#

Karliah slinked her way through the timeworn ruins, watching for any sign of a trap or any tripwires. She had not forgotten Mercer’s ways; she had not let twenty-five years dull her memory of her former partner’s techniques and his cloak and dagger ways. She had planned her revenge carefully all this time, her anticipation of Mercer’s death was building. She would see Mercer pay for murdering her beloved Gallus and for framing her as his murderer. 

“The stench,” Brynjolf coughed out from in front of her, “this place reeks of Falmer.” 

She nodded in agreement. “This must be their hive. We’ll have to keep silent if we want to avoid drawing their attention.” 

Slowly she moved on, her steps muffled by the enchantment on her boots. She glanced behind her to see the Breton inching her way through, making sure no one came up from   
behind, catching them off guard. The young woman’s hatred for Mercer was her drive, she could see that but she could not place why. She looked back ahead and followed Brynjolf’s lead. 

She watched as the Nord dispatched a dwarven spider that had crawled out of its hibernation chamber. She heard him say, “Didn’t even break a sweat.” She chuckled to herself as they walked further in. 

The trio found themselves in a large open room; a metallic tang hanging heavily in the air. Brynjolf and Karliah started down the steps but Meliandra stopped them, motioning to them that she saw two Falmer creeping around down below. She pointed to the lever in front of some fencing and made pulling motions. Karliah, having already learned to trust Meliandra’s hunches, tip-toed her way to the lever and pulled it. 

They saw giant blades appear from a slot in the floor, he blades spun around swiftly. A fresh spraying of blood coated the walls as the blades sliced through the creatures. 

Karliah pulled the lever again and watched as the deadly blades returned to their housing unit, hidden beneath the floor. They made their way down below, taking a moment to look at the carnage around them. Blood soaked rags littered the table and floor along with bloodied tools of all kinds. “Even the Falmer don’t deserve the pain these implements must have inflicted. The dwarves were a cruel race.” 

A male corpse lay strapped to a torture rack, a crumbled paper clutched in his death grip. She worked the paper free and read it.

‘Nobody thought they were real, but I’ve seen them. 

‘The Eyes of the Snow Elves! 

‘The Dwarves thought they took them from the Falmer, but they themselves were fooled. A statue, built in secret by the slaves, the eyes burn into you, and I see them even   
now. S’raffa escaped through the collapsing tunnel, but he’ll never escape what we’ve seen. Men will never believe him, and he’ll be driven mad by the knowledge that he’ll   
never see them again. But I may yet see them again before I die.’ 

She handed the paper to Brynjolf, saying, “Appears we’re on the right track.” 

Brynjolf nodded as he read the note. “Aye, lass, seems like we are.” He turned to Meliandra, an arm’s length beside him and handed her the note. 

Karliah watched the two; she could feel the tension between them. She tried to ignore it as best as she could, she didn’t want any distractions when it came to making Mercer pay for all that he had done to her and the Guild. She glanced down the dim passageway and cast a detect life spell; shaking her head she looked back at the estranged couple. 

“There’s a mass of Falmer in this chamber. We can sneak through or take them down… I don’t care. As long as we get to Mercer.” 

Brynjolf nodded and turned his attention to Meliandra. “Aye. Whatever you want to do, we’re with you.” 

Meliandra hmphed as she took the lead from Brynjolf. “Let’s get through here as quietly as we can.” 

#

Meliandra eased her way around the corner, her steps silent on the ground. She held no weapons in her hands, her bow sat upon her back. If she needed to draw a weapon, she would conjure her swords again. Behind her, Brynjolf followed soundlessly, his daggers at the ready. Despite the anger she felt about him, she was comforted by his presence behind her. She feared he would be a distraction though when it came to confronting Mercer; she had seen the vengeance in his own eyes. 

But he did not seek the vengeance she did. 

Suddenly from behind she heard Karliah cry out, “I will claim your soul for Nocturnal!” 

Meliandra spun on her heel, casting her spell without hesitation. The Gloomlurker was rushing toward her, its barbed and menacing sword drawn and at the ready. As he lunged at her, she thrust both her swords up into its belly and lifted the contorted creature off the ground; blood spilled down over her hands. She pulled back her swords, dropping the twisted elf to the ground with a thud. She looked to her companions. 

“You just made the last mistake of your life!” Brynjolf hollered as his blades found their way across the Falmer’s throat. 

Beyond him she saw Karliah had brought out her sword and was taunting an attacker saying, “I’ll bury my blade in your heart!”   
Meliandra drew her bow and, nocking an arrow, took aim at the Falmer running toward Karliah. The arrow sang as it sailed through the air, the tip embedding itself soundly in the throat of the creature, stopping him in his tracks. Karliah, now in front of the wounded attacker, drove her sword through his head. “The afterlife will bring you darkness,” she breathed as she sheathed her sword. 

The trio looked around and continued on. They made their way through a chaurus nest noiselessly, treading as softly as possible through the ebbing darkness. They saw a passageway lit by a growth of glowing mushrooms and made their way to it. They left each other to their own thoughts, each one wanting to exact vengeance on the former guild master. 

The silence was broken by a muted roar above them. The Dunmer looked up and said softly, “I can hear water rushing through these pipes. We must be beneath a lake.” 

They continued walking on, taking care of more Falmer along the way. Meliandra’s anxiety was building by the minute as they crept along. The frostbite spiders they encountered were slaughtered quickly, with both Karliah and Meliandra taking a moment to harvest their venom. 

They trudged through, eliminating a nest of chaurus reapers and a few more Falmer along the way. They jumped off a ledge and slowly made their way through the cavern. They pushed open a gate to see a door down a path. 

Meliandra’s heart accelerated. She felt her palms get clammy. 

“He’s close. I’m certain of it,” Karliah said. “We must prepare ourselves.” 

Meliandra didn’t hear her. She walked up to the door and without a moment’s hesitation, walked through.


	17. Searching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *teaser chapter*

The Alik’r sat on a wooden crate just beyond the waterfall, his thoughts stewing in frustration. They had tracked their quarry to Whiterun Hold but no further; she had managed to cover her tracks after she left Falkreath. He had been bound and determined to bring back the treasonous bitch who betrayed Taneth to the Aldmeri Dominion when he had taken this bounty. Now he feared he would return to Hammerfell emptyhanded, leaving thousands of deaths unavenged.


	18. Exacting Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trinity confront Mercer; Meliandra exacts vengeance.

It was the creaking of the door shutting that alerted Mercer that his pursuers had finally caught up to him; he was out of time. He frowned slightly but continued to concentrate on what he was doing. Slowly he continued to chisel at the daub mixture that held the gem in place, working its way loose. 

#

Meliandra stared at her former lover as he precariously balanced himself on the side of the giant statue; at one time, she would have lost herself in the sight of Mercer working, imagining the rippling of his muscles as they moved beneath his clothing. Now she watched his movements with bristling contempt as her hand clenched into a fist beside the Nightingale Blade on her hip. 

“He doesn’t see us yet,” Karliah whispered. “Brynjolf, watch the door.” 

Meliandra saw Brynjolf nod from the corner of her eye. His voice was low and deadly as he said, “Aye, lass. Nothing is getting by me.” 

Karliah addressed Meliandra, “Climb down this ledge and see if you can – “ 

It was at that moment that Mercer swung down holding the right eye tucked under his arm. The smirk on his face spoke of his self-confidence as he called out, “Karliah, Karliah, Karliah. When will you learn, you can’t get the drop on me?” He placed the large gem in his pack by the head of the statue.

A loud rumble groaned throughout the cavern; the ground shook violently below them as Meliandra found the ledge she stood upon crumbling beneath her, sending her crashing to the floor below. She landed on her left side, hard. Her breath caught as pain screamed its way through her body. She watched as he calmly strode down the steps toward her, stopping at the giant elbow. She got to her feet, biting back the pain coursing through her side. 

She looked above her; Karliah and Brynjolf stood on the edge, looking over. “Meli!” he called out, concern riding his voice. 

“How sweet,” Mercer said dryly. “Have you little lovebirds kissed and made up?” At Meliandra’s silence he continued, “When Brynjolf brought you before me I could feel a sudden shift in the wind.” He smiled at her, the leer in his eyes revealing the intent of his words. “And what a shift it was.” His eyes followed the length of her body as he said, “Too bad I don’t have enough time to taste you one last time before I take the last breath from you.” 

Meliandra heard Brynjolf holler “I’ll kill you before you get the chance!” 

Mercer looked up at his former second in command and laughed manically. “Ever the valiant hero! You’ll be too busy dealing with Karliah.” He flicked his hand, a frenzy spell taking affect upon the Nord causing him to draw his daggers and start to attack the Dunmer. 

“What?” Brynjolf cried out. “What in Oblivion is happening?” He stared at Karliah as he watched her deflect his attack. “I can’t stop myself!” 

“Fight it, Brynjolf!” the Dunmer shouted. 

“I’m sorry, lass! I can’t” 

Meliandra pulled her mask off and charged toward the older Breton. “Let him go, Mercer!” 

He laughed at her. “And you, my little vixen. Do you really think you’re going to be able to save your beloved Brynjolf’s life?” He advanced toward her. “I’ve always known one of us would end up dead at the end of a blade.” 

“And it’s going to be you,” she breathed angrily. “And then I’m going to take the Skeleton Key off your fucking carcass.” 

He shook his head. “What’s Karliah been filling your head with, Meliandra? Tales of thieves with honor? Oaths rife with falsehoods and broken promises?” He snorted. “Nocturnal doesn’t care about you, the Key or anything having to do with the Guild.” 

This time it was Meliandra who laughed; she slowly advanced on him, her voice as measured and deliberate as her steps as she said, “This has nothing to do with Nocturnal.” She sneered at him. “This is personal.” 

He arched his eyebrow, a smirk touching his lips. “Revenge? Haven’t you learned anything during your time with us, with me?” He shook his head. “When will you open you damn eyes, child and realize how little my actions differ from yours?” He looked up at Brynjolf above them, still trying to fight the control the spell had on him and then looked back at Meliandra. “You not only fucked the Battle-Born son so you could steal from his home, but you fucked that barmaid whore in Whiterun just for the hell of it! I fuck Haelga for business. I wanted a piece of you and I fucked you for that fucking reason alone, bitch. We both lie, cheat and steal to further our own ends.” 

“There’s a difference between us, Mercer. You see, I might lie to people, I might cheat and steal to get what I want and I might fuck people just so I can relieve them of some of their gold. But I still have honor. And that’s something that you’ll never have.” 

He shook his head again. “It’s clear you’ll never see the Skeleton Key the way I do… as an instrument of limitless wealth.” He shrugged, a look of false pity upon his face. “Instead you’ve chosen to fall over your own foolish code.” 

“If anyone falls, it will be you,” she said through clenched teeth. 

“Then the die is cast,” he said, drawing his sword. “And once again my blade will taste Nightingale blood!” 

# 

From the corner of his eye Brynjolf saw Meliandra draw the Nightingale Blade as she cast a wall of flames toward Mercer, causing the man to fall back from his initial charge. He watched as she opted to rush toward the top of the statue instead of following him around the base of it. His heart raced as he watched this young Breton who had found her way into his heart face her possible death at the hands of the man he had at one time trusted completely. The fact that he was being controlled by the frenzy spell Mercer had cast upon him that prevented him from joining Meliandra wage the Guild’s vengeance angered him; he felt the need to protect her, despite Mercer’s revelation of her own betrayal. 

# 

Mercer cast an invisibility spell; he had not realized how good Meliandra actually was with a sword. The fact that she had come at him with a wall of flames impressed him; he had not considered the possibility of her using her magic against him in an offensive way. From his position, he watched as she bounded around the shoulders of the statue, planning his next move. Suddenly he heard Meliandra laugh; the sound sent a shiver up his back. 

“You’re not getting out of here alive, Mercer. It’s over.” 

“You know what your problem is, Meliandra?” he called out. “You’re overly confident of yourself. You set yourself up for failure.” He paused for a moment. “All it took was for me to pull Vex’s strings a little bit to undermine your own confidence in your relationship with Brynjolf.” 

#

Meliandra closed her eyes at what Mercer had said. He knew that Vex was a sore spot with her and that he was trying to get her to react on an emotional level; he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did. She would deal with everything else later; she had only one objective at the moment and that was to kill the bastard who caused her so much pain. 

She opened her eyes and cast her own spell, seeing his life essence before her eyes. She smiled as she dipped down into a crouch, swiftly reaching into her satchel on her hip and withdrawing a small bottle of invisibility potion, popped the cork, and quickly drank the contents. She inched her way down the path, her muffled steps nimble as she came up behind her one-time lover. 

She drew the Nightingale Blade and held it firmly in her grip as she prepared to thrust its blade through Mercer’s back. 

# 

He pivoted on his foot, bringing himself behind her, grabbing her wrist and forcing her sword away from them as he brought his dagger around her neck, the blade resting on her throat, the steel piercing through her skin; a thin stream of blood appeared along the edge of the blade. 

“Meliandra!” came Brynjolf’s petrified shout. 

Mercer’s lips grazed her ear as he menacingly said, “Isn’t that just so beautiful, sweetheart? Brynjolf still cares about a whore like you even after finding out about Idolaf and what was her name again? Oh, yes, Saadia.” He looked up at Brynjolf through the corner of his eye and smirked then turned his attention back to his prey. “I must admit, I wish that I had been able to see that; I wish I could have fucked you while you buried that beautiful face of yours in her cunt.” He flicked his tongue alongside her earlobe. “Too bad things went the way they did, darling. I did enjoy shoving my cock deep into you.” 

She snorted. “Yeah, you enjoyed it so much you tried to kill me,” she said sardonically. 

He nipped her ear with his teeth, his breath hot against her skin; there was no playfulness to his actions. He trailed his lips down her neck, saying softly, “Business is business, Meliandra. You know that.” 

He saw her smirk as she said, “Then you’ll understand this, darling.” 

# 

The flames made Mercer jump back, his pants singed in the groin where Meliandra had been able to focus her spell. His eyes were darkened with rage as he glowered at her. She laughed, a maniacal laugh that echoed in the chasmal room. “Don’t worry, there wasn’t much there to damage.” 

“Bitch!” 

She conjured a sword with her free hand, a smirk playing upon her lips. “It’s just business, dear.” 

#   
Brynjolf, growing tired from his frenzy induced attack on Karliah, watched the battle below him from the corner of his eye, his heart heavy with anxiety as he feared he was going to see the one woman who made him feel whole killed before his very eyes. He knew their victory here was dependent upon Meliandra killing Mercer, for if she were to fall to him, Brynjolf would be unable to stop his assault on Karliah, leaving the Dunmer an easier target for Mercer and from there, executing the exhausted Nord. 

“Lass,” he breathed heavily as she blocked another blow from him, “you have to kill me.” 

“Brynjolf!” Disbelief edged her voice. “No! Fight this! You must!” 

“Karliah” he said in a rush, “it’s the only way to finish this.” His breath was ragged. “You need to help her, not be fighting me. He’s tiring us out, lass. We won’t stand a chance against him.” 

#

The Blade cut into his shoulder as she brought it slamming down, then she spun on her heel driving her magic sword into his side. He was bleeding profusely now and she could see the shattered bone beneath his flesh from the wound on his shoulder. She felt his blood dripping down her face; she smiled at him, her eyes full of hatred. Her magic sword dissipated as she placed the tip of the Nightingale Blade against his throat. 

He felt warmth on his side, she was healing the stomach wound. He glared up at her as he struggled to reach his sword just beyond his reach. She placed her foot on his hand, putting most of her weight on that side and pressed down on the tip of the blade; blood started to well up around it. 

“Don’t even think about it, asshole,” she said through gritted teeth. 

“What is this?” he asked, looking down at his side. “Compassion? Sympathy? Some pious delusion of benevolence?” 

She smiled at him, shaking her head. “Hardly.” 

# 

Karliah noticed the silence below; Brynjolf’s attacks were weakening. She looked to the side and saw Meliandra standing over Mercer. “Brynjolf! Look!” 

The Nord turned his head; he smiled as he saw the young Breton with her sword at Mercer’s throat. “That’s it, lass,” he breathed heavily. 

Karliah watched as Meliandra toyed with a wounded Mercer, her face dark and menacing as she cut Mercer deep enough to bathe her in his blood only for her to heal him enough so that he did not die and then she would repeat her actions. “She’s slipped into the darkness of her soul,” she said softly, sorrow touching her voice. “Shadows preserve us.” 

#

A scream echoed off the walls as Mercer finally gave in to the pain of the torture he was receiving at the hands of the young woman. Her dagger carved into his chest; she had long ago cut away the leather that clothed him, and having leaned him against part of a collapsed wall. The dagger dug deep into his flesh, the blood spilling out of the wound and down his stomach. 

“Now,” she said, dragging the tip across his neck, drawing blood that slowly dripped down, “what was it you were saying before? That I’m overly confident?” She smiled as she twisted the tip of the dagger over his sternum, pressing down firmly as she did so. “Perhaps, but I think you’re wrong about the failure part.” She pressed down harder; a rush of blood spilled out of the hole she was creating. His shoulder was still bleeding but she was controlling the flow of the blood as she would partially heal that. 

Mercer snorted as he glared at his former bedmate. “I was wrong about you.” An agonized laugh escaped his lips. “You are a sadistic fucking whore; you should have hooked up with Astrid and her family.” 

She smirked. “Sadistic?” She gave a hollow laugh. “Honey, I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface.” With that, she shifted the angle of the ebony dagger she carried with her everywhere, and slipped it between his ribs with a fierce thrust of her hand. She smiled again. “Sorry, dear. It’s just business.” 

#

At first, he didn’t feel anything, which struck him as odd; he had always felt the sting of a blade before. Then there was a burning in his lung that seemed to spread through the rest of his chest. He became aware of the pain as he saw the blade exiting his chest, his blood coating it. He barely registered the glint in Meliandra’s eyes as she licked the blood off the dagger, her eyes glimmering contently. 

“Meliandra,” he attempted to say but found his words being choked by the rising blood in his trachea; it was then that he realized that she had punctured his lung. Blood spilled from his mouth, he began to cough as his blood filled his airway, slowly suffocating him. His eyes grew wide as he saw death coming for him, an ending to his life he had never foreseen. He was Mercer Frey no one bested him. Yet, here he lay, propped up against a fallen chunk of marble, choking on his own blood; his imminent death at the hands of the one lover he had misread was, in his opinion, fitting. Like he had told her, he had known it would end with one of them on the receiving end of a blade held by the other.   
He looked at his executioner, his eyes pleading for a quick death; fear set in as she stood back and laughed. 

“You want Oblivion?” 

His eyes grew wide as he saw her hands glow with the healing spell again. He tried crying out as she lifted her hands toward him. 

“Meliandra!” came Brynjolf’s commanding voice. “Finish him!” 

Meliandra looked up to see the Nord finally free from Mercer’s spell. She sighed as she looked at the former Guildmaster again, a smile spreading across her face. 

He closed his eyes. 

# 

Brynjolf watched as Meliandra quickly drew the Nightingale Blade that once belonged to Gallus, and with barely a glance, swung the Blade through Mercer’s neck, decapitating the traitorous thief. He watched as the young Breton sank to her knees as the headless corpse fell over, showering her in his blood. He saw as she appeared to start sobbing; he scurried his way down to her, dodging marble blocks falling around them. 

“Damn!” cried Karliah. This place is coming down! Quick, Meliandra! Get the Skeleton Key and the Eyes and let’s get out of here!” 

Brynjolf grabbed Meliandra by the shoulders. “You did it, lass. Now let’s go.” His eyes were gentle, but urging. 

She nodded and reached into Mercer’s pouch, found the Key and stood up. She grabbed the sack with the Eyes that had fallen during one of the many quakes that plagued this place, slung it over her shoulder and started to climb the sides of the wall, heading toward Karliah. 

“Shit!” hollered the elf. “Something must have fallen on the other side! It’s not moving!” 

“We’re gonna have to find another way out of here before this place fills with water,” Meliandra said as she pointed to the bursting pipes and the quickly raising water. 

Soon they found themselves treading the rising water, avoiding the crumbling walls as they tumbled deep beside them. Suddenly Meliandra pointed to the ceiling, calling their attention to were an opening had been created; they could see rays of sunlight filling the opening. They swam to beneath the opening, hoping the water would raise high enough that they would be able to climb out of here, praying this would not become their watery tomb.

#

Rocks gave way beneath her feet but she was back on solid ground. She let go of Brynjolf’s helping hand and looked past him to Karliah who sat on a boulder, her mask in her hand saying how it was finally over. She looked back at Brynjolf, his mask also now in his hand. A storm raged in his eyes as he stared at her in silence. She met his gaze, coolly, unsure of anything but not giving much thought to anything but what had just happened. 

After a moment Brynjolf said, “You aren’t finished yet. There’s still the matter of returning he Skeleton Key. Karliah will have to help you on that.” He looked at her, but it seemed as if he was looking through her. “The Guild needs its leader and whether you like it or not, lass, the Guild has chosen you.” 

She shook her head. “It’s not right, Brynjolf. It’s not you. Why not Delvin? Why do you insist on it being me?” 

“Because you’ve proven yourself to all of us,” he snapped. He took a breath and continued, his voice level. “Despite everything that happened, you kept working for the good of the Guild.” 

She arched her eyebrow. “Despite everything?” She snorted. “You mean despite me walking in on you fucking the bitch you said I had nothing to worry about, right? Because I was ready to do that job for Maven out in Whiterun and be done with the Guild for good.” 

Brynjolf’s temper flared. “Couldn’t wait to get back into Battle-Born’s bed is what I’d guess.” 

“Fuck you. That was for the job.” 

“And the barmaid?” She looked away. “Yeah, I thought so.” He took a deep breath, his eyes ablaze with his anger. “I’ll take care of things back home until your return, boss.” 

He turned and walked out of the cave.


	19. The Summons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra receives Jarl Balgruuf's summons to Dragonsreach on her way to return the Skeleton Key; Balgruuf has his own plans for Meliandra.

The campfire crackled in the dimming evening light, the smell of salmon roasting over it wafting through the skies, the moons hanging high above them. Vorstag sat on a log near the White River, watching as Meliandra sharpened her weapons. She had barely spoken in the time that they had left Irkngthand, yet the silence spoke volumes. She had told him that they needed to travel toward Falkreath and when he inquired as to her companions she explained that she’d be meeting up with them in Riften later. And then silence as they walked west past the mountains. She had finally stated that they should rest and suggested making camp near the river. That was a couple of hours ago; he was getting frustrated. He was about to say something about it when he heard footsteps approaching; his dagger was in his hand as he turned to look around while standing. 

“Vorstag, put it away,” Meliandra chided. 

He looked over at her and noticed that while she spoke to him, their visitor had been observed for a while by her. He sheathed his dagger but remained standing, alert and ready to act. 

The boy approached Meliandra, a hesitant but harried look upon his face. After confirming it was her, he continued. “Shor’s Balls, you’re a hard one to find! I was coming back from Riften when I saw you over here. Damn, I’m glad I finally found you. I’ve got something for you.” 

She frowned. “Whose it from?” 

“Well, it appears that you know some people high up. This is from Balgruuf the Greater, Jarl of Whiterun.” 

Her eyebrow shot up. “The Jarl of Whiterun? What does he want?” 

The courier shrugged as he held out the sealed message saying, “Your eyes only.” 

She took the paper and handed the young boy a few gold coins, thanking him. She sat back down on the boulder she had been sitting on and broke the wax seal. Unfolding it, she read the summons, a questioning look on her face. She refolded it and slipped it into her satchel on her hip, then looked over at her companion. “We’ll be making a short stop in Whiterun.” 

“That’s it?” he asked. “No reason?” 

“The jarl is summoning me to Dragonsreach to discuss something to do with my surviving the dragon attack at Helgen.” She shrugged. “You now know what I know.” 

After a moment Vorstag said exasperatedly, “What in Oblivion happened back there, Mel? You’ve barely said anything since we left Irkngthand.” 

She sighed as she picked up the bottle of ale she had set down earlier and took a swallow. “I killed Mercer. “I’ve relished the thought of killing him since he stabbed me at Snow Veil Sanctum. I’ve imagined the scene over and over in my head, I’ve plotted what I would do when given the opportunity and when it was before me, I felt so alive. The pain at what he did drove me, the memory of what was lost, it, it just consumed me.” She took a long pull of the bottle then looked back at him. “I made him beg for death.” A slight smirk touched her lips as she said, “Well, he tried to beg. He was having a hard time with it due to him choking on his blood.” She took another pull of the bottle, this time finishing it. 

Vorstag shook his head as the chuckle escaped from his mouth. “He deserved death. It wasn’t like he wasn’t begging the gods to take him from this world. He had been dancing with Fate for years.” He sat down, grabbed a piece of bread and, biting into it, continued, “But that’s not why you’re so damn quiet.” He looked at the bread then retrieved his own bottle of ale and took a drink.

“Brynjolf insists that I take the position of Guild Master.” 

“Why don’t you?” 

She frowned and looked out over the waters running past them. She saw some mudcrabs burying themselves beneath the sands of the shore off in the distance and thought how ideal the notion of burying oneself away from the bullshit of the world sounded once more. “I don’t think I have much of a choice in the matter. He expects me to take charge once I get back to Riften.” 

“So, postpone your return,” he said as he ate another bite of bread, chasing the dryness away with another swallow of ale. 

“It doesn’t matter how long I procrastinate over returning. It’s not going to change anything between me and Brynjolf.” She picked up a handful of rocks and started throwing them across the field. 

“Do you want things to change?” 

She glared at him. “Yeah, I do. But every time I see him all I see in my mind’s eye is him screwing Vex. And that just sets me off all over again.” 

“You know you’re gonna have to deal with this, Mel,” Vorstag said softly as he stood up to walk the perimeter of the camp. “You can’t run from your feelings forever.” 

#

She took a left immediately before The Drunken Huntsman and ascended the steps to the Wind District, wanting to avoid the marketplace. It was midday; they had stopped at Honningbrew Meadery earlier in the day to sell some goods to Mallus, putting some more gold in their purses. Mallus filled her in on some of the local gossip and a few hot spots to avoid before sending them off with a few more supplies in their pouches, including a fresh loaf of bread that made Vorstag seemingly happy as he immediately broke off a good size piece of the bread and began to eat it contently as they had made their way to the city gates. Vorstag, a step behind her, commented on the fact that he’d never been to Whiterun before. She glanced at him to see him looking at everything wide-eyed, trying to take in all the sights of one of the main cities in Skyrim. She remembered the first time she had come through here and how awestruck she was by the beauty of the luxurious trees that filled the city, creating a slightly cooler climate than one expected. She smiled as she said, “It’s a nice little place, but I’m not fond of walls.” 

They turned right at the top of the steps and made their way towards the Temple of Kynareth and then up to Dragonsreach once they came to the Gildergreen. She stood for a moment listening to the priest of Talos then headed up the steps to the palace of Whiterun. It had been quite some time since she had climbed these steps bringing with her Gerdur’s request for the jarl to send aid to Riverwood after the destruction of Helgen. 

The guards in front of the doors halted her at the entrance, demanding to know who she was and what she business was at the palace. She arched her eyebrow and proceeded to attempt to hand them the summons but once they saw the seal of Balgruuf the Greater, they immediately stood aside and allowed her admittance. 

Once again, she was overwhelmed with the size of the entrance hall; the banners hung from the rafters, slightly swaying every so often. The jarl’s children were seen on the upper balcony, apparently hiding from someone and she did not see the Dunmer housecarl around nor did she see the jarl on his throne or at any of the tables. She approached the steward, the jarl’s summons still in her hand. 

“Ah,” Proventus said, barely glancing at the summons, “the survivor from Helgen. The jarl’s been anxiously awaiting your visit.” He gestured toward the tables, filled with breads and dried meats, fruits, berries and cheeses as well as jugs of mead with tankards on the tables. “Please, help yourself to food and drink. I’ll go tell Balgruuf you have arrived.” 

Meliandra and Vorstag looked at each other, bemused expressions on their faces. Vorstag shrugged, pulled out a chair, and sat down, picking up a jug and a tankard as he did so, saying, “Don’t mind if I do.” 

Meliandra smirked as she watched her companion. “Have you ever turned down free mead?” 

He looked at her, a lopsided smiled on his face as he shook his head. “Nope, can’t say that I ever have.” 

With that, Meliandra laughed. 

# 

Balgruuf sat in his private office at his desk, reviewing the reports his guards outside the city walls sent. He was trying to be neutral in this civil war, rebellion, whatever one choose to call it, he wanted no part of it period. He saw there were skirmishes on the outskirts of his hold; it both angered him and made him nervous. He set the reports down in a stack and picked up his goblet of mead. He held it a moment, the rim in his fingertips as he swirled the liquid inside round and round as he lost himself in thought. His mind drifted to a time when things were so complicated to his young mind. The Empire served its people as the people served their Empire. There were minor incidents throughout the lands, just as there always had been and always would be. He was a young man, destined to take the throne after his father’s passing. He caroused throughout the hold, bedding a different wench every night, sometimes more than one a night, sometimes more than one at once. 

And then the Great War happened. 

The tranquility that he had known was gone. He was new to the throne and lacked the direction he so desperately needed. He had spent many nights pacing the length of the palace grounds. He never liked agreeing to the terms of the White Gold Concordant but he felt he had made the best decision for the people of Whiterun, his people. 

But it never had sat well with him. 

He saw Proventus entering the study and sat back, asking what brought his steward here as he took a drink of the mead. 

“Sir,” Proventus said, “the young woman from Helgen has arrived in response to your summons.” 

He sat up quickly, a smile spreading across his face. “She is? Good. Have the cook start on the evening meal. I will take it here in my private quarters and have her as my personal guest. See to her needs until then. I am going to bathe and prepare for tonight.” 

“Sir? I thought she was coming her to take care of a mater for Farengar?” the confused steward asked. 

“Yes, yes, she is,” the jarl said in a rush. “I thought I’d speak to her about it first before bringing her to Farengar.” He stood and walked towards his bedroom, starting to undress along the way. “Have one of the servants tend to my children tonight; I’m going to have an evening of my liking for once.” 

“Sir?” 

Balgruuf merely smiled as he closed the doors on his steward. 

# 

Vorstag watched the steward leave the table waiting for the man to be out of hearing distance. “Mel, I got a strange feeling about this.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He sighed. “Just that no good is going to come out of tonight. A private dinner with the jarl in his private quarters? I might have never been here before, but I’ve heard stories about the jarl and this palace.” 

“Yeah?” She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “What kind of stories?” 

“Supposedly his late wife took her life right here in the palace. Some have speculated that she did so because the jarl was having an affair, so they say because less than a year later, the children’s nanny bore him a son.” 

“Okay, so where, then, is this nanny?” 

He shrugged. “I’ve heard dark forces have plagued this palace for years.” 

“And what about the jarl? What kind of stories do you hear about him?” 

“That he can’t keep it in his pants.” 

She laughed, spraying her mead across the table. She looked at him and smiled. “He wouldn’t be the first man I’ve known with that problem.” Vorstag frowned. “I’ll be fine,” she said reassuringly. Don’t worry about me. And hey, how often do you get the chance for some r & r in a palace?” 

He cocked his eyebrow. “You mean if I haven’t ended up in jail somehow?” At her frown he said, “Fine. Just remember, my blade is yours.” 

# 

She had expected Proventus or one of the guards to come escort her to the jarls quarters so she was slightly surprised when she saw Balgruuf coming from the stairwell. He was dressed in fine robes and it looked as if the gold on his circlet had been polished and he had adorned his fingers with fine rings. She heard Vorstag behind her whisper, “You holler for me if he gets too much for you to handle; they’ll have to throw me in the dungeon before I leave here without you.” 

“Shush,” she whispered back at him, waving him away with her hand she held at her side. He hmphed as he sat back at the table, making himself a plate of food from one of the many trays that the servants had brought out. 

She turned her attention back to the approaching jarl; when she had first met him she thought little of appearances, she had been more concerned with being discovered as an escaped prisoner. He was older than her, not elderly but mature. He had sharp, angular facial features softened by the slightly graying of his beard that framed his face and eyes as blue as the ocean; the smile on his face was genuine, touching even those blue eyes. 

“Meliandra,” he said in greeting once he stood beside her. “I’m so glad you could come. I was beginning to wonder if the courier was going to ever find you.” 

“He found me yesterday right past Valtheim Tower, Jarl. I’m on my way towards Falkreath Hold on a job for a.…influential group of people.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Your letter said something about my time in Helgen when it was attacked?” 

“Yes, we’ll get to that. Please, come with me.” He gestured for her to follow him, then began walking back up the stairs. 

She fell into step with him, letting him lead her past a point few got to venture past. She glanced around when they got to the top of the steps; a map of Skyrim lay upon the table, flags marking Imperial and Stormcloak position while books were placed on many of the bookshelves along with a variety of keepsakes. He led her to a set of doors and stepped aside as he looked at her. 

“This part of Dragonsreach is off limits to those who come to visit the palace. This is the private wing; my family resides here along with Proventus. I try to keep the hassles of being jarl on this side of the door, except for my personal study.” He paused as he gave a smile. “I guess this is the most appropriate place to say, ‘Welcome to my home.’” With that he opened the doors, allowing her to pass through first. 

The entranceway was larger than she had expected, the walls adorned with numerous mounted heads from a variety of wildlife around Skyrim. City banners hung from the ledges, the yellow fabric shining in the glow in the numerous lanterns that hung off the walls in ornate designs. Display cases with pieces of Dragonsreach’s history were placed sporadically against the walls; Meliandra, intrigued, walked up to one. Inside was a suit of steel plate armor with a very old looking steel battle axe. 

“those belonged to Olaf One-Eye,” he stated. “You might say that they’re a family heirloom.” 

“You’re a relative of Olaf One-Eye?” she asked, slightly surprised. 

“A direct descendent in fact.” He walked up to her and asked, “Do you know the story of Olaf & Numinex?” 

“I recall hearing stories my mother told me as a child,” she answered, with a slight smile on her face. “I must admit to a fascination with antiquities.” She looked at the upper level. “And up there?” 

“My personal quarters, my children’s quarters. Shall we head up there? There’s more…antiquities up there.” 

She chuckled as she nodded and followed him up the stone steps. After a moment of looking at more pieces of Whiterun’s history, he led her past a pair of giant doors that led to his own personal quarters. 

The long table was set for two; bowls of a soup made of leeks sat beside platters of roasted venison and grilled potatoes, a large plater was filled with breads and cheeses, their goblets filled with ale. The glow of the candles flickering against the walls gave a warm feel to the room. Vorstag’s words came to her mind for a moment as she heard the doors shutting, Balgruuf saying, “Let’s have some privacy.” 

#

Brynjolf sat at the desk in the Cistern, his thoughts stewing ever since leaving Bronze Water Cave. Delvin had been the only person who had approached him upon his return yesterday. He had looked at the older man as he walked into the Cistern from the graveyard, sighed and nodded his head. “Mercer’s dead. We recovered the Skeleton Key and Meliandra is on her way to the Twilight Sepulcher to return it to its rightful place. Karliah is waiting at Nightingale Hall for the conduit between the two to be reopened, letting her know that Meliandra has been successful.” 

Delvin had nodded. “Good to know. I’ll tell the others. What shall I tell them about the position of Guild Master? Has Meliandra accepted the title?” 

Brynjolf scowled. “She hasn’t accepted it, but she hasn’t rejected it either.” 

“So, things are still on the outs with you two I take it?” 

Brynjolf had just shook his head and walked away saying, “Not even going to go there, old friend. Not even going there.” 

Now he sat fuming at himself for the way things had turned out and how many times he had had the opportunity to make things right that he had instead let pass. His thoughts were tortured as he wondered if it was truly too late to apologize for everything. He knew he needed the Breton back, he wanted her like he had wanted no other. She had made him feel alive and that nothing else mattered but her and making her smile, making her happy. 

He looked across the way to the bed she would sleep in at times, empty as it had been since before her departure for Snow Veil Sanctum. Even if he couldn’t have her by his side again, he was determined to bring her home. And if the only way he could prove himself to her again was through his being her trusted right hand man, then he’d be fine with that. 

He owed her that much.


	20. An Evening with the Jarl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra sees a different side of Balgruuf; her and Vorstag take on another job.

The cool evening air hit her as she stepped out on the balcony feeling good on her flushed cheeks as she followed the walkway of the balcony around, looking over Whiterun from high above the city. “No wonder it’s called the Cloud District,” she said breathlessly. 

She felt his hand on the small of her back as he said, “I told you it’s a beautiful view.” He looked down at the young woman, his eyes soft in the glow of the light of the twin moons. He searched her face for a moment then looked over the city. He pointed to the left of them and said, “There’s Jorrvaskr, the mead hall of the Companions. And there’s the Temple of Kynareth.” Then he pointed further out. “You can see as far as the eye can see.” 

“It’s breathtakingly beautiful,” she replied, gazing across the sky like an eagle upon it’s aerie perch. 

“Like you.” 

She turned to look at the jarl, finding him gazing at her intently, his eyes showing a hunger she had seen before, desire to taste her, wholly, savoring every nibble of her skin with his lips. He reached up, cupping her face with his hands and silenced her unspoken question by placing his lips softly upon hers; she responded instinctively, parting her lips to welcome the probing of his tongue, wrapping her hands behind his neck as he drew her into a tight embrace, pressing her body against his. 

After a moment, the jarl huskily breathed against her cheek. “I will not treat you like a bar wench.” He then lifted her off the ground, carrying her in his arms as he leaned down to place a kiss softly on her lips. “Let me make love to you the way a man should.” 

He brought her into his room, gently setting her on his bed. His fingers trailed down the length of her neck to the top of the tunic she wore, then slowly, nimbly, he unlaced the strings that held the bodice together. Once he had loosened her clothing and removed it, he stood back looking at her. “You are very beautiful, Meliandra; probably one of the most beautiful women to ever grace Dragonsreach with her presence.” He began to undress; he watched her watching him, his arousal growing. 

He knelt on the bed, kissing her as he laid her back up on the bed. He positioned her legs on either side of him, then laid his hands on her chest, feeling the firmness of her still youthful breasts; it had been too long since he had felt a woman’s breasts. He massaged them before giving them each a playful pinch. He leaned over and traced the areola and flicked the nipple of one with his tongue before moving onto the other to do the same, but this time he took her breast in his mouth and suckled on it as hungrily as a babe nursing. 

Meliandra moaned in pleasure as she felt his hand stroke her side, his touch as light as a feather, so light a slight chill swept across her body. His hand found its way to the heart of her femininity; her heart accelerated. His thumb rubbed the nub between her legs; he had stopped giving attention to her breasts and was watching her as he teased her body, building up the anticipation. Her tongue peeked out, moistening her lips. 

He slipped his middle finger into her causing her breath to catch; he began to stroke the insides of her sex. Soon she began to grind her hips against his hand, her eyes closed, sounds of pleasure coming from her plump lips. He began to suck on her breast again only this time he tenderly bit her nipple, eliciting a gasp from her. He slipped his index finger in alongside his other digit and continued stroking her insides. 

She gyrated against his hand harder, moaning. It wasn’t long before she to murmur, “I want you inside me. Please, I need you in me.”

He stroked her faster and harder, watching her eyes roll back as she bit her lip, her fingers clenching the quilt beneath her as she began to writhe atop it. He felt her muscles clench around his fingers suddenly, her body arched in the air, completely still for just a moment, then her orgasm exploded, her juices flowing over his fingers and down his hand. He watched as her body calmed itself, then smiled at her. He licked his fingers clean then he proceeded to move down to the source of her wetness and began to lick the drenched folds between her legs, causing her to squirm as he made her arousal hungry again. 

He sat on his knees before her, her legs spread open, the smell of her climax hanging in the air; his erection was at full attention, throbbing and twitching. He leaned down, kissing her fully on the mouth, his tongue possessing hers. He felt the hairs of her womanhood brushing against the tip of his penis; he broke the kiss for a moment, looked in her green eyes and thrust himself into her. 

She cried out in pleasure as he filled her with his hardness; she grabbed a hold of his back, clutching it as he sailed her core with his length; first with slow, rhythmic strokes building up to the slamming of his dick like battering ram into her slit. Her fingernails dug into his back as he drove her to her second orgasm; she left bloody scratch marks down his back as his own climax sent her into spasm again a moment later. 

Breathing heavily, he looked down at her, his eyes searching her face before leaning down and kissing her once more. Her fingers followed an instinctive path up his neck and found their way entwined in his golden hair and stayed there even after the kiss had ended. “I think I might need some salve on my back,” he chuckled. 

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” she smiled shyly. 

He slowly pulled out of her then sat at the edge of the bed, looking at her laying beside him. “First of all, I think we’re past the point of needing to address me by any kind of title.” He glanced over her nakedness then at his own then back at her. “Secondly, don’t be sorry. It’s not like I haven’t had this happen before.” He smiled. “I’ll just have to remember that you have claws.” He stood up and walked to his wardrobe closet, pulling out a very elegant robe; putting it on, he returned to Meliandra’s side on the bed. Sitting back down, he kissed her before saying that he’d return shortly, then he left his quarters. 

# 

The door shut as Vorstag examined his surroundings. As far as castles and palaces went, it wasn’t as drafty as he had expected it would be. Perhaps it was because this time he wasn’t in the dungeon or jail. He opened the shutters to the window and gazed out, seeing that his room overlooked Skyrim past the city walls; he could make out Valtheim Tower in the distance. 

He looked at the bed in the center of the room and frowned. He knew that somewhere in the castle Meliandra lay on a bed similar, if not more elegant, her body entwined with that of the widowed jarl; he shook his head. While he had no notions of any kind of sexual relationship with her, he felt a kind of brotherly concern for her and couldn’t help but feel protective of her at this time. She carried herself with a certain confidence about herself but he heard her in her sleep. He heard her calling out one name over and over, pain filling her voice even in the depths of her sleep. 

Brynjolf. 

# 

She woke to the sound of movement in the next room. Her head felt heavy and she remembered Balgruuf saying that the ale was an imported special brew. She then remembered what happened after dinner. Slowly she opened her eyes, glancing around briefly before sitting up, drawing the warmth of the fur blanket up to her chest; she noticed that her clothing had somehow ended up tossed across the room, landing on a dresser. A slight smile appeared on her face as she thought about the gratification she had felt before falling asleep; the jarl had not disappointed. 

“Good, you’re awake,” came Balgruuf’s voice as he walked into the bedroom, wearing a loosely tied robe. He set a stack of papers on the end table, then went to her and leaning upon the bed, kissed her lips softly. “It won’t be long until Farengar starts hounding me on when I’m going to bring you to him.” 

She raised her eyebrow. “I’m sorry, who? And why?” 

“My court wizard, Farengar. He’s in need of something that a person with your particular set of skills can retrieve.” 

“My particular set of skills?” she repeated as she climbed out of bed and gathered her clothes. “And what skills are we talking about, might I ask?” 

“You survived Helgen.” He paused. “It’d be easiest for him to explain than for me to even attempt to. He’s been looking into a matter related to these dragons and rumors of dragons.” 

She saw it again in her mind’s eye as she repeated, “Helgen.” The smell of burning flesh, the screams of the people trying to save themselves, the sight of the enormous winged beast, black as pitch with eyes full of fire. She swore she could still feel the heat from the flames that surrounded her as she landed in the inn after jumping from the keep. It had been a sea of flames on the ground, everywhere she turned she had seen burnt carcasses, women and children screaming as they searched desperately for an escape route, any escape route, but how does one escape a flying monstrosity? 

She nodded as she dressed. “I’m not sure what help I can offer him, but I’ll see what I can do.” 

# 

He scratched at his beard lost in thought as he read through a tome on the ancient dragon language. His interest in these creatures grew immensely when he had heard the news about Helgen, then he had received a message from an old associate and from that point on he became obsessed with the subject, just as he had been as a child when he had first heard the old stories. How he longed to see one for himself. 

He became aware of the jarl’s voice then he heard a woman’s voice responding; they were talking about the destruction of Helgen. He looked up in time to see the jarl enter with the girl that had survived the dragon attack along with a young Nord male. 

“Farengar,” Balgruuf said addressing him, “I’ve found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill her in on the details.” 

Farengar noticed how the jarl placed his hand on the small of her back and held her close to him. “So, the jarl thinks you can be of use to me?” He looked her up and down then glanced at her companion and looked him over. He addressed the young girl. “I do need someone to fetch something for me.” At her look, he said, explaining, “Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there.” 

She shrugged. “All right. So where am I going and what exactly am I ‘fetching’?” 

“Straight to the point, eh? No need for tedious how’s and whys?” he asked, his voice patronizingly. “I like that. Leave those details to your betters, am I right?” Balgruuf glared at him and he hurriedly continued, “I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow – a ‘Dragonstone’, said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. So, I need you to go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet – no doubt interred in the main chamber – and bring it to me. Simplicity itself.” 

She nodded. “Fine. Bleak Falls Barrow.” She turned and started to walk away, Balgruuf following, his hand still on her back. Farengar watched the trio leave then picked up the book on his desk again, found the spot he had been at when he had stopped and resumed his reading. 

# 

Meliandra walked out of the wizard’s quarters, plotting the route that she and Vorstag were going to take. At the doors of the palace stood a pair of guards holding a steel plated suit of armor. She looked at Balgruuf. 

The jarl was smiling at her. “I had the armory find you some proper armor; my gift to you.” He looked her in the eye and continued. “This is a priority now. Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons, we need it. Quickly, before it’s too late.” He drew her into an embrace as he said, “Be careful, love, those old Nord ruins hold many surprises within.” He kissed her, long and deep before biding her goodbye. 

She took the armor the guard still held and began to place it over the tunic she wore. She looked at Vorstag who was staring at her, an eyebrow cocked high. She shook her head and said shortly, “I don’t want to hear it.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Vorstag – “ 

“I’m not saying anything.” 

She glared at him for a moment then sighed. “Fine. Then let’s get a move on it. Daylight’s not gonna last forever.” With that she threw the leather boots she had been wearing into her backpack and walked out of the palace. 

#


	21. When Worlds Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra runs into someone from her past.

He stared at the numbers on the paper in front of him as he rubbed his forehead, the pressure of setting things with the Guild back on the right path was weighing heavily upon him. Mercer’s pilfering of the coffers throughout the years had hurt them more than he had expected. They needed to regain their footing throughout Skyrim; he knew they had a rough road ahead of them. He took a drink of his ale, his eyes once again resting on the bed Meliandra used at times, the emptiness of it shouting at him. 

He could not deny that he still cared the Breton; the idea of Meliandra not being in his life pained him in a visceral way, causing him to feel as if the floor had just disappeared beneath him. No woman had ever laid claim to his heart the way she had, the thought of her wrapped itself around his soul, breathing life into him. Yet the words Mercer spoke ripped into his heart, leaving tattered ribbons of what once was so vibrant and alive. As much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t fault her for sleeping with the Battle-Born son, he had done similar things as a pad foot himself. It was the innkeeper’s helper that he couldn’t get out of his mind. 

He saw Delvin headed toward him, a frown on his face. He took a deep breath and waited for the man to sit by him at the desk. He took another drink as his longtime friend sat down. He looked gloomy; he knew why the meeting had been called. The redheaded Nord looked toward the door then back at Delvin. “Where’s Vex?” 

“On her way. She didn’t look happy at having to have this little meeting.” 

“Yeah, well that makes two of us. I really don’t care if she’s happy or miserable. We have Guild business to discuss and we need to have some kind of plan in the works for when Meliandra gets back from the Sepulcher; I have yet to hear any kind of news from Karliah about that.” 

“How bad off are we, Bryn?” 

The Nord grumbled. “Delvin, you know I don’t do the religious stuff but I am really hoping that once the Skeleton Key is returned that things will begin to pick up for us, because   
if it doesn’t, we are dead in the water.” 

“That bad, eh?” At Brynjolf’s nod he asked, “Any ideas of how we can recover?” 

At that moment, they saw the busty blonde walk in, heading directing for the two of them. “Give Vex a moment, let me fill her in on things at the same time.” He watched as his former lover made her way over to them. He had given her Mercer’s journal to read, so she could see for herself how she had manipulated by the former Guild Master and how he’d been manipulating her for years. She had since withdrawn into her work. 

“Alright, I’m here. Can we get this done with? I’ve got jobs that need getting done.” 

Brynjolf nodded, “Good to hear that, we need the coin.” He looked directly at her. “Mercer left us in dire straits, Vex. We need to start pulling some jobs that bring in more coin than the others. That means we need to let people know that we are very much still alive and kicking. Start hitting up some of our old contacts and get ties re-established, let them know we’re under new leadership if you need to.” He looked at Delvin. “I want shopkeepers to know we mean business, I want their books to show more of a profit for us, and dammit, did people forget how to lighten purses without notice around here?” 

He turned back to Vex; they had barely spoken to one another since Meliandra had walked in on them and when they had spoken, it was strained. She had reluctantly taken the journal when he told her that she needed to read it; when she returned it to him, she looked upset and had gone off to do a job. “We need to start hitting some of Skyrim’s more wealthiest of citizens; keep an ear open for whose returning from abroad and who’s leaving to go abroad. Now that Gulum-Ei is cooperating with us once again, we can use him to find out whose shipments are containing what. Hit stores, sweep houses and by the Eight, if we need to frame someone for something, fucking do it.” 

She nodded, but refused to look at him. 

Brynjolf continued discussing with the two how best to restore the Guild; the entire time he just wanted to be out working, making more connections to influential people, anything but being here where he only longed for Meliandra to walk through the doors again. He brought up Meliandra’s refusal and hesitation on accepting the position of Guild Master and they talked about it, with him acknowledging that it was partially because of what was going on between him and her that had caused her to hesitate.

He finally drew the meeting to a close and started to head to the graveyard entrance; he wanted some time to himself, away from the eyes of the Guild. He noticed a moment later that Vex was a few steps behind him; he turned to look at her, an irritated look on his face. “What do you want?” 

“Look, Bryn,” she said. “I’m sorry for everything. You were right; I have been very insecure lately. Mercer, that fucking bastard, he had been playing me since day fucking one. I know you know all of this. I just needed to apologize to you. I am really sorry.” 

He nodded in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Vex. I know how hard it is for you to admit that you’re wrong and I know how hard it is to even elicit an apology from you, so I know that you’re being completely sincere. I think, though, that your apology need to be given to Meliandra as well.” 

With that he continued on his way out of the Cistern, making his way out of the city walls, no destination in mind, only where his feet took him. 

# 

His men were avoiding him; he didn’t blame them, he was livid. A courier had sought him out, he had been paid a good amount of gold to deliver this message with more promised upon receipt of said message. He paid the boy well and sent him off before opening the folded paper. His eyebrow arched when he saw who it was from. 

‘Cousin,   
‘It came to my attention that a companion of yours has found his way to Whiterun’s dungeon. Curiosity got the better of me, and I, relying upon the friendship I maintain with a particular guard, was able to gain entry to question the arrested man. What you seek can be found within the city walls, tucked away at the inn. You would find it prudent to enlist the aid of a hired hand to retrieve your prize.  
‘Safe endeavors.  
‘~ A’ 

Ever since he had read that message he had been in a foul mood, arguing with anyone who spoke to him. He had finally found out where the traitor was but still face the possibility of returning to Hammerfell empty-handed, and that could mean exile from his family for failing. He could not fail them or any of the other families that had put their faith in him to bring her back for justice. 

He finally left his perch beyond the waterfall and left the cave they were camped in, intent on working out his frustrations with a walk, perhaps hunting some deer and rabbits would set his mind at ease so he could figure out a solution to this predicament he had found himself in. He waved off his warriors on his way out, indicating his desire to be by himself. 

He walked for some time before he noticed deer tracks; his hunter instincts that had been ingrained in him since he was a young child kicked in. Soon his attention was entirely focused on the tracks before him and the sound of the breeze through the grass. 

He lost track of time; the sky was darkening when a voice broke through his concentration. He made his way quietly toward the voice; there were two he noticed after a moment when he heard a female’s voice accompanying a male’s. He stayed hidden in the shadows as he listened to the two travelers converse; he soon realized that they had recently been to Whiterun. 

“Mel,” he heard the male say, “why are we going to Bleak Falls Barrow? It’s an old Nord ruin; those things are always crawling with draugr. Do you really want to be crawling around in there and run into a horde of those things?”

“You really did not just ask me that,” came the annoyed response. 

“You just crept around in the Twilight Sepulcher, fighting the Sentinels that guard it, sneaking around in the shadows avoiding the light that could kill you, avoiding traps of swinging axes and a battering ram and then that pit that opened up and swallowed you. Shor’s Balls, Mel! How much of this adventure seeking do you need in one week?” 

The woman laughed; he crept forward to get a better look at the couple, listening to the banter between the two. 

“So absolutely nothing to do with you spending the night with the jarl?” 

“You just won’t leave that alone, will you?” Her voice sounded frustrated. “Look, I know what you said about Balgruuf. I still did what I did and I’m not going to complain about it. What’s done is done. Plus, we are getting paid for this little adventure. And no, I don’t care about the walking dead in there.” 

“All I know is that the jarl best pay us well for this. My mother told me as a kid to not go exploring in those kind of places, you know?” 

Again, the woman laughed; Kematu was sure he knew that laugh. He tried to get a better look at her and crept a little closer, keeping as quiet as he could. The sky was getting darker; heavy cloud cover hid the stars and moons making it harder to see; the woman snapped her wrist and a ball of light appeared above her, illuminating her face. His breath caught. ‘It can’t be,’ he thought to himself, a smile appearing on his face. 

“Did you hear that?” the male asked, suddenly when Kematu stepped on a twig. 

She stopped beside her ally peering into the darkness. Kematu froze. What if it wasn’t her? It had been so many years, his memory of her might be skewed from the passing of more than a decade. He held his breath, wanting more time to study her to see if it was indeed the young girl he knew many, many years ago. 

“Must have been a rabbit or fox,” the man said, continuing to walk towards the south. 

“Must have been,” she murmured, slowly following her companion, looking into the shadows as she walked away. 

He stood there, holding his breath, unmoving, watching. In the space of a breath he found himself transported back in time to the days of his youth; he recalled nearly every moment he had spent watching her, training with her, growing closer to her. 

And then she was gone. 

Suddenly a flash of light flew past him, bathing him in its glow briefly. A sword appeared in her hand as her companion snarled, “I knew it!” She advanced on him, her sword at the ready. “If you want to keep breathing, I suggest you come out of the shadows, you coward.” 

He stood up straight, walked forward with his hands out, palms in the air to show he was unarmed. He wore a smile on his face as he stared at her. “It’s alright. I mean you no harm. You’ll always be a part of my family.” 

She looked at him hard, searching his face until recognition came to her, then her mouth hung open, surprise taking over. “Kematu?” 

“Hello, Meliandra. It’s been way too long.”


	22. Awakening the Others

He woke his long dead brother and they spoke to one another, perched high above the world below. Their guttural tongues lashed against the cloudy skies; he would raise the others who were scattered throughout the world. They would finish what they had started eons ago. His strength had returned but he was still not at his strongest. He instructed his brother to go and spread fear amongst the people, to let them know that they were back and this time no one was going to stop them.


	23. Carnal Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kematu fulfills a fantasy and finds a way to get his bounty.

They sat amongst the paid bandits and the Alik’r, dining on roasted pheasant and imbibing on endless bottles of mead. One of the bandits, Rema, had made it her mission that night to be as close to Vorstag as possible while Kematu kept Meliandra within arm’s reach but always watching her. Meliandra smiled and smiled quite often this night and this made Vorstag happy. Rema had made herself comfortable next to him, giving him close view of her firm, creamy breasts beneath the hide armor she wore. It wasn’t long before he felt her hand on his thigh as they ate and drank, the mead and ale seeping into his brain as he looked at her, a smile spreading across his face. 

He glanced over at Meliandra across the table from him. She was smiling and joking with Kematu and the others; they had told stories of their youth, the time that their families lived amongst each other. He had noticed how the Redguard leader watched her and eyed anyone who approached her with an intensity to his eyes, so it wasn’t a surprise when he saw Kematu whisper in her ear, then lead her out of the large cavern. Instead he picked up his tankard of ale, took a long swig of it, then looked at Rema and smiled as her hand rested on his thigh, her long slender fingers resting close to his groin. 

# 

Kematu led her through the cave, his voice light-hearted as he joked with her. “I think it’ll be safer for you with me back here; some of my men act like they’ve never seen a woman before.” He looked back at her and winked before laughing. 

“Oh, come on now, I’ve dealt with many ogling eyes. I am definitely use to it by now,” she responded. 

“Really?” he said but continued. “This is the last room in this cave we allow the bandits to have access to.” 

She looked around, saw some sleeping mats, empty bottles of mead and remnants of half eaten meals. A couple of bandits sat huddled in the corner, the smell of skooma heavy in the air. “I see you pay your hired hands well.” 

He frowned. “I pay them enough to do their job. What they choose to spend that gold on is up to them. I will not tolerate *my* men using that shit.” 

They emerged on a ledge overlooking the area they had been eating and drinking in earlier. Meliandra looked over the side to see that Rema was now sitting on the table directly in front of Vorstag, her arms draped around his neck as she leaned forward. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight, and when she saw him reach his arm around her waist and pull her down to him, crushing his lips to hers, Meliandra gave a loud whistle. 

Kematu called out to his men below, “You all keep watch. Tonight, we fest, but tomorrow we have work to do.” He started to turn to walk away, stopped and looked back over the group. “And if anyone dares to bother me before sunrise without good reason, they’ll be pulling double duty for at least two months. If it’s for a good reason, they can go fight a goddamned giant.” 

The guys below roared with laughter as the two of them took another passageway further back into the cave. “Seems like you’ve got a good crew. What brings you out to Skyrim?” 

“You really want to talk business, Meliandra?” He glanced behind him, chuckling. “Come on now, relax. Tonight, nothing exists but you and me, right here, right now.” At her laugh he continued, “I’m glad you laughed ‘cause you will not be in a moment.” 

“What are you – “ she started to say. Suddenly she found herself being picked up and carried by him, and then she felt the cold water on her backside and let out a surprised yelp.   
“Shit!” 

He laughed heartily then said, “That’s nothing. Just wait till we get a little further on.” 

Her eyes widened suddenly. “Do I hear a waterfall?”

Again, he laughed then said, “You might want to get ready.” 

“Why? Do we have to go through it?” At his bigger smile, she slapped his arm. “You bastard! Just like –“

“Get ready,” he interrupted. 

A moment later they both were drenched as they emerged on the other side of the fall. He set her down on her feet, then dodged the slap that she went to lay on him. He laughed as he walked up an incline and toward a barrel. “Live a little, Meliandra. It’s okay to play around and have fun.” 

“We are not kids anymore, Kematu.” 

“Were we ever truly kids?” he asked as he glanced back at her. “We both saw sides of life we shouldn’t have when we were young.” 

“Our childhood consisted of a life among the Aldmeri Dominion,” she said frowning. “There’s not a lot of living and having fun in that kind of setting.” 

“But we did manage to have fun,” he chuckled. He pulled out a belted tunic and a pair of boots then walked back over to Meliandra. “Here’s some dry clothes; best get those wet things off you before you catch your death in this place.” 

“Never had a man use that line to see me naked before,” she said with a raised eyebrow. 

His eyes roamed over her body as she stripped off her wet clothes. “I never had to tell you anything to see you naked before. And I have seen you naked before.” 

“What?!” she cried out. 

He chuckled. “You weren’t very good at knowing when you were being followed, sweet girl.” 

She pulled her wet clothes off her, eyeing him. “Really? Why were you following me?” 

“Because you were the only teenager that travelled with us that wasn’t a Redguard. You were different.” He paused as he looked her in the eye. “I was intrigued by you.” 

She sat on a crate, dry clothes in hand. “Then why were you always giving me a hard time? I mean, you gave me so much shit growing up.” She started to pull the tunic over her head, but his hand rested on it, stopping her. She looked at him, a questioning look upon her face. “What?” 

“I gave you a hard time but we were still friends, weren’t we?” At her nod he continued, “I gave you a hard time because I didn’t want anyone to know that I wanted to be with you.” 

“You wanted to be with me?” she repeated. 

“You were forbidden fruit,” he admitted to her, his finger tracing her jawline to her chin. “Father would not hear of it.” 

“Because I wasn’t Redguard?” she asked. He nodded, his finger now tracing down her chest. “But that didn’t stop him and my mother…” she trailed off. 

He chuckled. “No, it didn’t stop them from screwing around. You know as well as I do that they had something going on between them. We both saw them. Numerous times.”   
He held her eyes as he leaned closer to her. “Remember, I followed you.” 

Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink as she thought of the times she had watched her mother satisfy the carnal needs of Kematu’s father in various ways. A shy smile touched her lips as she said softly, “Was it as exhilarating for you as it was for me?” 

“Do you mean watching them fuck or watching you as you pleasured yourself?” He breathed heavily as he leaned even closer, their faces nearly touching. 

“Well, since you put it that way, perhaps both.” 

“Then, yes, it was very…exhilarating.” 

“What about now?” she asked in a whisper. “Do I…exhilarate you?” 

His voice was thick with lust as he answered, “Very much so.” 

“So why don’t you do something about it?” 

“I intend to do just that,” he answered, pressing his lips hard against hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth and instantly entwined itself with hers, demanding that it bend to his dominance. He reached over, wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up with ease while her legs clasped around his hips, holding them together tightly. He carried her to the upper level to where his sleeping mat was. Kneeling upon the ground, he gently laid her back then removed the last two remaining items of clothing she wore, revealing her succulent breasts and the nest of her womanhood. 

He removed his wet tunic, revealing his firm, defined, muscular chest. She went to run her fingers down his chest, but he grabbed ahold of them and held them above her head; he shook his head as he smiled. He leaned down and kissed her again before unwrapping her legs from his waist and standing up to remove his pants. 

She watched as he loosened his pants, letting them fall to his feet. His erection was large; he walked to the edge of the sleeping mat, eyeing the Breton before him. “Get on your knees,” he demanded, his hand upon his cock. “That’s a good girl,” he said as she obeyed and got on her knees, kneeling before him. He rested the tip of his dick on her lips; she flicked her tongue over the head of it. He cupped her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb, then slid his member into her mouth.

His thickness filled her mouth, as she began to suck on him, eliciting moans of pleasure from the Redguard. He ran his fingers through her hair, murmuring about how good her mouth was making him feel. He began rocking his hips back and forth, slowly building up the tempo of his rhythm. She began to massage his balls, increasing his murmuring.   
Suddenly his hands clenched around her head and he rocked his hips faster before going rigid as he came in her mouth, nearly causing her to choke before she swallowed the salty tang of his seed as quickly as it pumped into her mouth. When she was satisfied that she had swallowed it all she looked up at him, a coy look on her face. He ran this thumb along her lips, wiping a pearl of cum off her chin before she sucked his thumb clean. “That’s a good girl,” he said as he gently pushed her onto her back. 

His fingers found their way inside of her, while his thumb rubbed the nub of her sex with his other hand. She bit her lip, enjoying the pleasure he was giving her. Soon she was dripping with anticipation and begging for him to fuck her. He stood up and looked at her. “Get on your hands and knees.” 

She obediently turned over and got onto her hands and knees. She felt his hands on her ass, rubbing it roughly, then she felt the sting of his firm hand on her ass cheek and then again on the other side, then he began to finger her pussy again. She was rocking herself back and forth on the two fingers he had in her; every so often he’d slap her ass, startling her. She wanted to feel his dick inside of her but she quickly understood that he was the one in control, not her. 

He felt how wet she was getting and it made him crave impaling her on his cock. He removed his fingers and began to rub his length along her wet slit. “You’ve been so obedient. Perhaps I should give you what you want now?” he asked as he continued to tease her with his organ. 

“Please, Kematu,” she begged. “Please fuck me.” 

“If I fuck you, what do I get in return?” he asked as he slipped the head of his pulsating dick in her pussy. 

She gasped as her lips parted for his throbbing penis. “Anything,” she breathed. “Anything you want. Please just fuck me.” 

With that, he gave a hard thrust filling her with his immensity; causing her to yelp. He grabbed her hips as eh built up the tempo of his strokes, enjoying her cry out as her womb adjusted to his size. “Just as sweet as I imagined your pussy to feel,” he grunted as he pounded her harder and harder. “If you feel this good now, I can only imagine how good you felt back then” he continued. “I wish I could have been the first to fuck you.” His breath was coming in fast, short pants as he felt his climax building. 

“I’m….going….to….cum…” she panted. 

“I haven’t given you permission to cum yet, Meliandra,” he scolded, grabbing her hair tightly as he thrust inside of her, harder. 

“May…I…please…cum…Kematu?”

Feeling his own orgasm nearing, he grunted, “Cum for me.” 

It took only a couple more thrusts of his thickness for her to climax, her orgasm shuddering through her body as her juices flooded her and seeped out around him, spilling onto his balls as they clapped against her ass. She cried out as her body trembled beneath his body. He slammed his cock deep within her as she felt his warm seed spilling into her, his dick pulsating against the walls of her vagina. His load pumped into her, seemingly endlessly until his legs began to tremble; he pulled out of her and collapsed onto the mat. 

He reached over as Meliandra lay next to him and pulled her into his arms, the two of them both slowly catching their breath as their hearts returned to their normal pulses. 

She laid her head on his chest and wrapped her arm around his waist while he stroked his fingers down her back. He laid a kiss on the top of her head, saying “That was better than I had ever imagined it being. Really wish we had done this back then.” 

She chuckled sleepily. “You wouldn’t have found me to be very cooperative back then.” 

He laughed. “On the contrary, I would have enjoyed the challenge of training you in the art of fucking.” 

“I’m sure you can teach me more than what I know already,” she said as a yawn escaped her lips. 

“I’m sure I can, sweet girl, “I’m sure I can, darling, I’m sure I can,” he said as he watched her drift off to sleep. 

“Sleep well, sweet girl. I’m going to be taking you up on that deal earlier. I could use your help in capturing that traitor.”


	24. A Change is Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A jarl is lost in thought. Meliandra and Vorstag make their way to retrieve the Dragonstone.

The jarl paced his war room, his thoughts racing through his mind, the map on the table before him littered with flags indicting Imperial troops and their occupied territories; his troops were marked in blue and those numbers were dwindling and they were losing ground. There were no voices of dissent, if anything, his men were more determined than ever to regain their lost numbers and reclaim the lands that the Empire had taken from them. It had been about eight months since the Legion had captured him and his men, and about eight months since the appearance of a dragon. He seemed to remember something in his studies during his time at High Hrothgar about a prophecy concerning a long dead dragon awakening, but that was a lifetime ago and he could not be certain of it. 

“My Lord?” came the voice of his steward, Jorleif. 

He turned and looked at the man, a slight smile touching his lips. The man had been in the employ of the palace since Ulfric was a young child, he was also one of the few men that he actually trusted. He saw sealed journals in the man’s hand and nodded. “Daily reports?” he asked. 

The steward nodded and said, “Plus some letters sent by courier from along the outskirts of the hold.” 

“Thank you, Jorleif. If I have need of you I’ll send for you. Have a good night.” He took the journals from him and dismissed him. He turned to the door that led upstairs where his quarters were and decided to retire to his room for the rest of the evening, not because he was tired but to be alone with his thoughts. 

The passageway was aglow with the torches that lined the walls, casting flickering images that danced on the stone walls as he walked through. His mind flashed back to the fiery hell he had experienced at Helgen and once again he could smell the burning flesh. He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath wishing the sight would disappear from his memory. He had seen many horrendous sights in his forty years of life, but this one haunted him worse than the others. 

“Jarl Ulfric?” came the concerned voice of Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced. “Are you alright?” 

He opened his eyes, nodding. “Fine; carry on.” 

He continued up the steps to his quarters, looking out the windows as he walked by, gazing over the top of his city, a fresh layer of snow blanketing the roofs. The sky was bright tonight, no cloud cover hiding the moons. It was nights like this that he felt the most reflective; he would often walk the streets of his city late at night when it was like this.   
There was something about the crispness of the cold air that brought a fire to his soul, it was intoxicating to his very nostrils. 

As he neared the door to his quarters he heard giggling from within and sighed. He opened the door to see a redheaded young lady on his bed with a young brunette, both of them naked, as he had expected. They turned to look at him, smiles on their faces. At one time this would have made for a pleasant distraction from stressful current events, but lately he had no desire to indulge in his carnal desires. He started to walk towards his desk, intent on reading the reports in his hand. “Ladies,” he said as he walked by. 

“Ulfric,” the redhead purred, “won’t you come play with us? It’s been so long and we miss you.” 

He looked at Rory, the fair ginger and thought about how she would sit atop of him, impaling herself upon his dick, how her pussy felt wrapped around him as she slid herself back and forth along his pole working herself into a frenzy until his rode his cock with wild abandon. She was by far one of his favorites. Then he glanced at Mila, his luscious brunette and thought about how those puffy lips felt around him, sucking him happily, swallowing every drop of cum out of him. She was also one of his favorites.   
“Not tonight, girls.” He showed them the stack of journals in his hand. “You two have fun, though.” He continued to his desk, grabbing a bottle of mead along the way. He removed his fur-lined cloak and draped it across the back of his chair before sitting down. He uncorked the bottle, took a long pull of it, opened the first journal and began to read. 

It took some time to read through the reports and all the messages and once he was done, he felt as if his eyes would cross if he tried to read one more word. At one point, he had looked up to see the two girls enjoying the taste of each other, their heads buried in each other’s laps, the only sounds coming from them were that of licking and sucking with the occasional pleasured moan. He had watched a while, debated joining them but just was not interested in sex. Now, over an hour later, the two laid curled up in each other’s arms, sleeping soundly. 

Sighing, he stood up and walked to the window. The smoke billowing from Candlehearth was clear in the sky and he could smell the cedar wood that was commonly found in their fires; Elda particularly liked the smell of burning cedar and paid good coin to get it. He decided to take a walk over there, perhaps share a tankard or two with Nils, the cook. As he put his cloak on there was a knock on his door, making him inwardly groan. 

The door opened and his housecarl and closest friend, Galmar, stuck his head in. “Ulfric? Good. You’re still awake.” He looked at the bed. “Tired them both out tonight, I see.”   
He snorted and shook his head. “Those two tired each other out. I was working.” He motioned toward the desk indicating the stack of journals and empty bottle of mead. “I was going to head over to Candlehearth for a couple; care to join me?” 

“I need to talk to you actually, Ulfric.” 

“Then let’s talk over drinks.” 

Galmar shook his head. “Only if it’s in my quarters; I don’t need others to overhear our conversation.” 

He nodded then proceeded to head toward the quarters belonging to the housecarl. Once they were in the older man’s room, he turned to look at his most trusted man. “What’s on your mind, old friend?” 

“I think we have had a mole amongst us.” 

The jarl raised his eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘you think’ and ‘we have had’?” he demanded, his voice taking a dark tone to it. 

“We’ve noticed certain planned missions have been failing due to what we have assumed was faulty information. This would include the ambush that befell you and the men at Darkwater Crossing.” He filled a goblet with Argonian Brandy and handed it to the jarl. “We had assumed that we lost a total of six men at Helgen three returned while the others we had believed to have been killed either by the Legion or the dragon. Recently one of those men has been seen inside of Castle Dour and it appears that he is there of his own   
free will.” 

Ulfric gripped his goblet tighter. “Who?” he demanded. 

“Appius Fridthjof.” 

“Appius?” He thought for a moment. “His father served mine faithfully, staying true to the Nord ways until his death.” He looked directly at Galmar. “Are you sure?” 

The man nodded, a glum look on his face. “Our spies in Castle Dour are positive that it’s him.” 

Ulfric leaned back in his chair, the anger setting into his eyes. “I want him eliminated. One way or another, I will not tolerate betrayal.” 

“It’s not going to be easy to get to him.” 

He finished his drink, then glared at Galmar. “I don’t care. Just get it taken care of.” 

# 

“It’s goddamned cold up here, Mel,” Vorstag complained again. “I can see my fucking breath.” 

She glanced behind her and frowned. “You’re a Nord and you’re complaining about the cold?” She shook her head. 

“Well, you’ve been damn quiet most of the day, really ever since we left Kematu and the others. I can tell you’re irritated, but I really don’t know why. Or at who.” 

She stopped walking and turned to him. “You know that feeling you get when you think you’ve been played for a fool?” He nodded. “Well, that’s how I feel about Kematu right now. And no, I really don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just find this damn tablet for Farengar and get this done and over with it.” She began walking up the snowy path, pulling the hood on her cloak atop her head. 

He grumbled but followed her lead. After a bit, they saw an old watchtower ahead. He tapped her should and pointed, whispering. “Careful, looks like a perfect spot for an ambush on someone being unobservant.”

She nodded and readied her bow. Slowly they crept forward, watching for movement, listening for voices upon the wind. She slowed to a stop and whispered, “The tree and the doorway.” 

He nodded, seeing the two bandits she had spotted. “I’ll take the one at the tree,” he said. “You get the one in the doorway.” 

She smiled, nodded, and pulled her arrow back taut, instinctively holding her breath. She lined up her shot then released the arrow. It whistled through the snowfall, landing squarely in the bandit’s forehead, killing him instantly. She heard Vorstag mutter, “Showoff,” before he drew his sword and walked calmly toward the rushing bandit. He easily deflected the crashing of the steel mace with the new steel shield he carried, bought with some of the gold he was paid by Meliandra. He brought his sword across his opponent’s shoulder, immediately cutting through the inferior armor, blood quickly spreading through the hide. The bandit swung again and once more Vorstag blocked it and slashed with is sword. “You can always run away,” he taunted. 

“Kiss my ass, Nord,” came the gruff reply of the Orc. 

“Hmmmm, yeah… Keep on wishing, handsome, but you’re not my type.” The Orc rushed him again but was unprepared for Vorstag’s thrusting of his sword into the man’s stomach, ripping through his intestines. “You know,” Vorstag said calmly as he looked at the Orc, “you should be glad that I don’t use those swords that the Forsworn do. I can’t imagine what it feels like to have your guts shredded as they’re ripped out of your body as they pull out the sword.” He pushed the bandit to the ground with his foot as he pulled out his sword, then thrust the tip into the Orc’s heart, blood erupting from the wound. 

“I’m a showoff?” Meliandra said as she walked up next to him, looking at the corpse below him. “I say that you have a flare for the dramatic. You were playing with the poor fool.” 

He glanced at her through the corner of his eye. “So, what if I was?” he asked as he cleaned the blood off his blade, wiping it along the armor of the dead bandit. “He’s dead, ain’t he?” 

She chuckled. “Come on, let’s keep going. I want to get back to Whiterun.” They began to walk up the path when she felt the piercing pain as an arrow found its way into the unprotected area of her arm directly below her shoulder. “Lucky shot,” she said through clenched teeth as she turned around, her eyes searching for the archer. Vorstag pushed her out of the way just as an arrow drove into the snowbank where she had just been standing. She looked back up at Vorstag who had recovered her bow and had grabbed the arrow and fired it toward the top of the tower. He grabbed another arrow and fired again. 

He saw the bandit fall off the side, then turned his attention to Meliandra, dropping to one knee and looking at the area that the arrow had pierced. “It looks like it went in cleanly.   
I can get it out no problem.” He paused and looked at her in the eyes. “It’s just gonna hurt like a son of a bitch.” 

“No shit,” she hissed. “Just get the son of a bitch out.” She felt his hands beneath her shoulder, his fingers working around the bloody injury. “Don’t say anything,” she snapped when she sensed he was about to tell her something. “Just do it.” 

A moment later, Vorstag was holding the arrow while Meliandra was casting a healing spell on herself all the while griping about her failure to ensure they had cleared the tower. They sat and rested for a bit. Meliandra took a piece of dried meat from her pack, tore it in two and offered half to her companion. “Balgruuf is going to pay us well for this job, oh yes he is,” she grumbled under her breath.


	25. The Other Side of the Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra and Vorstag locate the Dragonstone; her thoughts return to her desire of a quiet farm life.

“Holy shit,” Vorstag breathed as they entered the hidden cavern. Through the darkness, he could see a glowing ahead; a cloud of startled bats flew around their heads as they walked ahead. “What the hell is that?” he said, pointing to the giant wall with strange markings on it. 

“I’ve seen one like that before,” she said, remembering the strange wall in Snow Veil Sanctum. “I don’t know what it is. Weird though. I swear it hums.” 

“It hums?” he repeated light-heartedly. 

She glanced at him to see the quizzical, but joking, look on his face. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m serious.” 

“Okay,” he shook his head. “So, do we know where to find this thing?” 

“No. We get to be adventurers.” 

“Great,” he sighed. He pointed towards something. “Is that a sarcophagus?” 

She nodded. “Are you afraid?” 

“Hell no. Just...” he paused then continued, “unprepared.” 

She chuckled as they crossed a stone bridge. “That wall is imposing,” she muttered. “Gives me the creeps.” 

“You? Weirded out?” It was his turn to chuckle. “Mel, I do believe that that is a first.” He looked at the wall and then back at her a couple of times before finally saying, “I have to see for myself.” He walked ahead of Meliandra toward the wall. As he neared it he could tell what she had meant about the humming. There was a sense of something pulsating and he turned to mention it to her. 

Meliandra was bracing herself against the wall, a blank look to her eyes. A moment passed before her eyes cleared, a bead of sweat appearing on her brow. She dropped to her knees and clutched at her head, a silent cry upon her lips. She looked up at Vorstag, visibly shaking. She moved her lips as if to speak, but nothing came forth. 

Suddenly there was a loud cracking sound as a cloud of dust and crumbled stoned filled the air. There was a rumbling as the two looked toward the stone sarcophagi to see a draugr climbing out of it. It turned its head toward them, an eerie light emitting from its long empty eye sockets. 

“Fuck me!” Vorstag cried out, grabbing his sword. “Mel, whatever the fuck that has gotten a hold of you, you better shake it off and quick-like! I’m not gonna be able to fight this thing by myself!” 

The draugr shouted at them, knocking them back. Meliandra climbed to her feet, shaking her head. She drew her sword, snarling. “Well that got me up and moving. Let’s play.”  
She charged forward, slashing at the undead once she was within reach. Suddenly Vorstag was in the middle of the fray, attacking the creature with a fierceness. They were relentless in their assault until the draugr crumpled at their feet. 

Vorstag looked at her. “What the fuck happened before?” 

“I don’t know but it happened last time too. I just thought I was sick.” She shook her head. “Let’s find that tablet and get out of here.” 

They began searching through the sarcophagus then the chest. “Hey, Mel,” Vorstag said after a moment of digging around, “this what we’re after?” 

She looked over to see him holding a stone tablet with chiseled characters on it. She nodded. “Looks like it.” Taking it from him, she tucked it safely away in her sack and slung that on her shoulder. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. We can stay the night in Riverwood; Gerdur will give us lodging.” 

# 

They approached the stables outside, weary from the trek north to Whiterun. Her thoughts were on a thick cut of steak and a never-ending supply of mead so when she saw Kematu leaning against the stable wall she was taken by surprise. She stopped, looked at Vorstag and said, “Meet me at Dragonsreach.” He nodded, then continued, leaving Meliandra to speak to the Redguard. She walked over to him, an exhausted look on her face. 

“My sweet girl, I was beginning to wonder if I was going to see you or not,” he said as he stroked her cheek. “Don’t forget your promise.” 

“I would never forget the oath I made to you, Kematu,” she replied, turning her face into his hand. “I had to fulfill my obligations to Balgruuf. I am still going to bring her to you.” 

He leaned forward, lightly placing a kiss on her lips. “Good. See you soon then?” 

“I can’t promise how soon; I still have to go give this thing to the court wizard and I’m sure the jarl is going to take his time in forking out the gold for this little venture I made for him. But I promise, you’ll have her.” 

He smiled at her, his hand resting along her neck. “I know I will, my sweet girl. Just don’t make me wait much longer.” 

She smiled. “Of course not.” She excused herself and headed up the path, her temper beginning to flare. She thought back to the morning after their tryst and how he had managed to get her to do his bidding. She resented being manipulated the way she had been but she saw this as an opportunity to alleviate a problem of her own. 

As she made her way to the gates of the city she thought about returning to Riften; she knew that she had to get back to the Guild, there was plenty more that needed to be done to get the Guild on its feet again. She just wanted to avoid having to deal with Vex or Brynjolf. After having to deal with this promise to Kematu, having to deal with that betrayal was not something she was ready to deal with. 

She sighed heavily as she approached the gate; her uneasiness seemed to grow with every step she took. Once again, she thought of a little farm that she could call her won, a place to work on her alchemy and be left alone in peace, but that dream was beginning to look just like that, and one that would elude her for the rest of her life. It was beginning to upset her greatly but she boxed it up inside to deal with another day, just like so many other thing she’d already experienced in her short life. 

She decided that once Balgruuf paid her and Vorstag for retrieving this tablet and once she lured Saadia out to Kematu, she would hire the carriage and go back to Riften. Once she got the Guild back on their feet, she was going to get on with her life and get as far away from Riften as she could.

# 

A dragon had been sighted outside Windhelm. His troops had been delivered a devastating blow when Imperial troops ambushed another detail on their way to strengthen their border. He was considering hiring an assassin to eliminate Appius inside of Castle Dour but knew he needed to find out if anyone else was in on his betrayal and if so, who? What had started as a cause turned into a rebellion and that was having the very life choked out of it. 

Ulfric picked up his tankard and downed its contents, a frown on his face. He looked at his bed at Mila who was sprawled up on it, her naked body entwined with Rory’s once more. He had watched them play again, the two of them indulging every desire they had shamelessly. Rory took a dominant role in their sex-play, often putting the brunette in binds to restrain her as she playfully punished her for some invented slight against her. He would find that his dick got the hardest when one of them was punishing the other, bringing him to the bed to join in the fun. He had attempted to be a part of that fun this past night, but his cock had remained flaccid even when Rory was giving it attention orally. Disgruntled, he had sat back down and began drinking. 

His thoughts started to turn dark as they dwelt on the misfortunes he and his men had been experiencing. This darkness was familiar to him, he had known it since he was sent to live among the Greybeards. It was a darkness that had visited him when he received word that his father had died during his imprisonment. It was a darkness that never truly left him, for it lived on the edges of his heart and mind, engulfing him on a whim. 

He stood up and walked out of his quarters, leaving the two girls asleep in his bed. He made his way down the passageway and into the main hall of the palace. The flames cast eerie shadows that danced along the walls as he walked to the doors that led outside, the footfalls of his boots echoing throughout the quiet hall. The guards by the doors stood at attention as he exited the palace, and sensing his mood, stood back. 

He found his way to Candlehearth, intent on getting his mind off current events. He could hear the drunken voice of Rolff Stone-Fist, Galmar’s good for nothing kid brother harassing one of the elves. As little as he cared about any of the Mer peoples, he did not wish to deal with a ruckus this night. He clapped the younger man on the back, saying, “Rolff! So good to see you! Come, let’s get a tankard at the inn and catch up.” He eyed the elf as Rolff laughed and clapped him on the shoulder in return. Laughing, the jarl continued, “No need to ruin the night with any of this ugliness.” 

#

She hadn’t even had the chance to bring the tablet to Farengar before Balgruuf was out of his throne and quickly by her side, sweeping her out of the throne room and into his personal quarters. His hands were quickly removing the clothing that she wore, his lips caressing her neck as his hands found their way around her waist, bringing her body to his. She could feel his erection hard against her body, his kissing igniting a fire of desire within her. The man was proficient in ways that she had not even dreamed possible. 

His lips laid feathery kisses down her neck and down her chest, slowly making his way to her stomach; she was leaning back against the wall now as he began to kneel before her, kissing every part of her he could, enjoying the feel of her skin beneath his hands. He wanted to taste the nectar of her and brought his face to the nest of her womanhood. 

He stopped and sat back, staring at her hips; the bruises were the perfect imprint of large hands, masculine by the size of them. His eyes burned hotly as he looked up at her. “Who touched you? Who dares touch what is mine?!” he roared. 

“Yours?!” she repeated, equally as loud. “You think that because you bedded me that that makes me yours? I belong to no man.” She went to grab her clothes, anger written on her face. She glared at him when he grabbed her wrist; his grip was strong, causing her pain. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he snapped. “I’m not done with you yet.” He spun her around so she was facing him. 

“I’m done here,” she snapped back at him, trying to pull her arm away but finding his grip firmer than she had expected. 

“You’re done when I say you’re done.” He pulled her to him and glared into her eyes. “While in my city, you belong to me. You will not deny me what you so freely give to others.” 

“I give freely to those of my choosing, not those who demand it from me.” 

He reached up and grabbed a handful of hair and leaned into her face. “I am the jarl of Whiterun. I don’t have to demand it. I expect it from you.” He paused a moment then continued, “Especially if you don’t want Commander Caius to find out that you were at Helgen not as a passing traveler like you told us but as a prisoner of the Legion.” 

Her face paled as she stared back at him. “You know that?” 

He frowned at her. “So Irileth was right; you have been lying the entire time.” At her confused look he said, “I didn’t know. But Irileth knew something wasn’t as it appeared with you. Well now I know what it is.” 

“So you’re going to blackmail me?” 

He stroked her cheek again. “I’d hate to see you taken from my city in chains.” 

She looked away for a moment, then returned a resigned look at him. “Fine.” 

He smiled, but all warmth from his eyes was gone as he pressed his lips on hers, kissing her roughly. “Good,” he breathed harshly against her face. “Now since you want to be a little slut and fuck whoever, I’m going to treat you just like I would a barwench.” He forced her to her knees then pulled her head back to look up at him. “I’m going to fuck your mouth first for lying to me. Then I’m going to fuck that pussy of yours so hard that it knows who it belongs to even if you refuse to.”


	26. Getting Out of Whiterun

She picked the lock and let herself into the room on the top of the Bannered Mare; she gently shut the door behind her and relocked it before making her way to the bed. Ever the thief, she opened the drawer to the end table beside her and began rummaging through it. Picking up a journal, she thumbed through, skimming the entries, entries that backed up Kematu’s story of espionage and betrayal. She put the journal back in the drawer and, finding nothing else of interest nor anything of value, she closed the drawer. She sat on the side of the bed, waiting. 

Meliandra was not in a patient mood today. She discovered that Balgruuf revealed the true nature of the beast within him easily once he slipped out from behind the mask of normalcy he wore for all to see. She had seen behavior like his before, but she had not been the target of such behavior back then, merely a frightened observer hurdled in a darkened corner of the room, praying to the Divines for it to be over. 

She had watched men who craved power become drunk with it and the drunker they became the more pervasive they grew. Often the ones who bore the brunt of such gross misconduct were the most innocent of all, and they bore scars no one ever saw. Meliandra had long since grown a thick skin that grew over the scars of her childhood, but Balgruuf had been successful in ripping it open, letting all the hurt and pain that had long been in remission come rushing to the forefront of her soul. 

She had made up her mind that she was leaving Whiterun as soon as she was done with Kematu and had told Vorstag to be discreetly waiting for her by the Khajiit camp outside the city walls; he had looked relieved to be leaving Whiterun and started to gather their gear as she had headed out of the quarters Balgruuf had Proventus put the Nord in. 

She heard steps outside the door then a key being laced into the keyhole followed by the sound of the lock disengaging. She stood up as the door opened and the Redguard stepped through, her head down and unaware of her unexpected visitor. Meliandra thought how easily she cold dispatch this woman; it would resolve so many things, yet Kematu was adamant that she must not be harmed. 

A look of surprise appeared on Saadia’s face when she looked up to see the Breton standing there. “Meliandra? What are you doing here? And how’d you get in here?” 

Shaking her head, she walked toward her. “Never mind that. You’ve got to get out of Whiterun, Saadia.” 

“What?” she cried out. “Are you crazy? This is the only place I’ve been able to hide!” 

“And they know that you’re here.” She looked into the woman’s eyes. “I overheard a group of Alik’r talking about a wanted Redguard woman inside Whiterun Hold that they have been hired to bring home. They described you down to your scar,” she responded, running her fingers over Saadia’s scarred cheek. “They’re on their way to arrest you.” 

“But, they can’t get into Whiterun! They’re not allowed here!” Her eyes were wide with fear as she tried to comprehend what was being said. 

“They found a way in, but I’ve arranged for you to get out of here.” 

“But… I’ve nowhere to go!” 

“I’ve got a place for you, don’t worry. But I’ve got to get you out of here. There’s a horse I’ve had readied for you down at the stables. Grab what things you cannot go without and let’s go.” She tossed the woman a knapsack and said, “We don’t have much time.” 

Saadia took the knapsack and started throwing things in it, including the journal Meliandra had read through earlier; Meliandra made a mental note of everything of value that was being packed, fully intending to relieve her of those possessions once Kematu had custody of her. The look on her face was harried, stressed with a glimpse of fear; Meliandra felt a rush of excitement coursing through her knowing that she was betraying this woman’s trust. 

A short time later the two women were walking toward the gates of the city, Meliandra telling her that she was going to join up with her soon. Saadia kept surreptitiously looking around, staying close to the Breton, sure of her protection. Meliandra did everything to assure her that she was safe. 

When the stable sign came into view, Meliandra’s heart began to beat faster again, she could feel the adrenaline building as the stables grew larger and larger. She fell a half step behind Saadia, discreetly with drawing her dagger, keeping her hand hidden in the folds of her cloak. 

Saadia turned the corner, stopping a few steps later when Kematu turned around and stepped out of the shadows. A smirk appeared on his face as he said, “Sow, we meet at last, my dear lady.” 

Saadia took a step back; she felt the blade against her back and looked at Meliandra. “What have you done?” 

Meliandra merely smiled and echoed the words of Mercer Frey, “Business is business.” 

“I trusted you!” she snapped at the Breton. 

“And you trusted the wrong person,” she said matter-of-factly. 

Kematu chuckled. “Oh, come now. You didn’t really expect to manipulate people forever, did you?” He said, approaching her and then stroking her cheek when he stood before her. “Your luck had to run out sometime.” 

She spat on him. 

Meliandra moved to strike her but Kematu stayed her hand. “Keep that rebellious spirit up, traitor. The houses will take it into consideration.” With that he cast a spell upon her, paralyzing her as she collapsed onto the ground. “Now,” he said as he gave the signal for his warriors to emerge from their hiding places, “time to take our friend here back to Hammerfell where she will pay the price for her treason.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a coin purse, heavy with gold. “As for you, sweet girl. I owe you a portion of the reward, don’t I?” 

He approached Meliandra, the coin purse in his outstretched hand. As she took it from him he reached out and pulled her to him. “Spend it wisely. And, Meliandra, don’t allow yourself to be fooled by a pretty face. You’re better than that.” He kissed her deeply before letting her go and walking off to join the others, never looking back. 

She picked up the bag Saadia dropped then headed towards the tents off to the side. She approached Vorstag to see that he was haggling the price of a new sword with the feline trader. She listened to the two go back and forth until she finally spoke up asking what the Khajiit was wanting for it. Upon hearing the price, she opened her coin purse and dumped a handful onto the rug next to the trader. “We good?” 

“Khajiit accepts your gold. May you walk on warm soil.” 

She nodded and began to walk back toward the road to wait for Vorstag. She shook off the disgust she felt over Kematu’s kiss, his words cutting her as she knew that he had taken full advantage of her, putting her on the spot and reminding her that his father had given her and her mother sanctuary all those years before. 

The crunching of rock behind her spoke of Vorstag’s approach and Meliandra turned to face him. She was beginning to appreciate his companionship, not just because he was a decent fighter but because she was beginning to consider him a friend. “You ready to get out of here?” she asked, a faint smile on her lips. 

“More than ready,” he answered. He tapped the scabbard on his hip, the shine of the new sword, dwarven in design, glinting in the sun. “Thanks for this.” 

She nodded, saying, “Consider it a bonus for this last job. Let’s get out of here. I want to get back to Riften as soon as we can.” They began to walk toward the carriage just beyond the stables. She could almost smell the musky stagnant waters below the city and for a moment she felt homesick. She approached the carriage driver and began to speak to him when she heard a guard holler, “Meliandra! By order of the jarl, I order you to stop!” 

#

Balgruuf paced the floor above the throne room, his anxiety and fear evident in his face. The look of terror on his guard’s face spoke of the nightmare he had seen before he had begun to run as fast as he could to Whiterun to warn the jarl. Balgruuf had feared something like this ever since Meliandra had brought the news of Helgen. Now he only hoped that his city would be spared and not laid to a fiery waste like the small little wooded town was. 

“Sir,” came a deep voice from the stairwell just beyond him. 

He turned to see the young Breton standing beside one of his guards, a look of anger on her face. “Thank you, you’re dismissed.” The guard turned, leaving while Balgruuf walked toward the woman, a look determination on his face. He began to speak but was cut off by Meliandra. 

“This had better be goddamned important, Balgruuf! On what grounds do you detain me?!” 

“Don’t make me remind you how easy it is for me to notify the Legion of an escaped criminal,” he snapped at her in an authoritative voice. 

She sneered at him. “What are you detaining me for?” she repeated through clenched teeth. 

“I am not detaining you!” he yelled at her. “You survived Helgen. You are the only person in this entire city who has any kind of experience with a dragon attack.” 

She arched her eyebrow suspiciously. “What are you getting at?” 

He took a breath and stared at her. “A dragon has attacked the Western Watchtower. A guard managed to make his way here during the attack to warn us. Irileth is mustering a contingent of soldiers to assess the situation and, if need be, engage the dragon.” 

Meliandra stared at him, her eyes narrowing. “What does this have to do with me?” 

“I need you to join Irileth and her men. You and you alone are the most knowledgeable of dragon attacks.”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” she cried? “I only survived Helgen due to luck! All I did was find my way beneath the own and escape! I didn’t do anything that the other survivors didn’t do!” 

“This is not a request, Meliandra,” he demanded. “You’re going to help Irileth. End of discussion.”


	27. Along Came a Dragonborn

The Imperial couple hid behind rocks, praying to the Divines the flying monstrosity didn’t see them and roast them alive as it made its multiple flyovers above the watchtower. The beating of its powerful wings fanned the flames of what it had already ignited, flaming ash blowing across the field. They watched the guards from Whiterun try to fight the dragon, but they feared it was all in vain. 

# 

The Khajiit traders had their goods and their tents packed and were quickly headed to the east of Whiterun when the word came about a dragon being seen headed towards this area. They saw the beast circling overhead, they could see the smoke rising from the area of the watchtower. Bandits they could handle. Wild animals were one thing. The civil war between the rebels and the Empire they withstood. But this talk of dragons and then seeing them, that was something that they wanted no part of. 

# 

The guards fired arrow after arrow toward the dragon, praying to whatever deity that they prayed to that their arrows found their marks. They had already watched as two of their brothers in arms were snatched up in the sharp maws of the creature. Now they saw Irileth and another contingency of soldiers rushing to join the fight. They tried to warn them but suddenly the dragon was on top of them again. The guards feared this was their last day alive. 

# 

Meliandra swore as she saw the giant best rising above the watchtower. “Fuck me,” she said through clenched teeth. “Damn thing haunts my dreams and now I get to play with its ugly ass cousin. And all I want is to get the fuck out of here and back to Riften.” 

The air got hot around her as the dragon breathed fire beside her. She found herself cursing the day she met Balgruuf more and more and vowed that she would find a way to make him pay for this. She looked in the sky as the dragon flew overhead again. Shaking her head, she growled, “I will not die this day, dragon!” 

# 

Vorstag held his shield up against the blast of heat from the dragon. “Mel!” he shouted through the roar of the noise around him. He saw her aiming an arrow toward the flying beast. He looked for the best spot that he could cover her from, and, finding none, ran to her side, determined to protect this woman. 

# 

The dragon watched the people below run like scared little skeevers; his laugh erupted forth as a blast of flame. They scattered every which way as he toyed with them. Every so often he’d land and let them strike him with their puny swords; he looked forward to tasting one and every once in a while, he’d snatch one up in his jaws. How he relished the sound of their bones crumbling as he snapped his mouth shut on their bodies, and the taste of the blood of these creatures, it was so rich with the variety of foods they ate. He dove again, intent on snatching up another when he saw the raven-haired female of the species. Something about her whet his appetite. He wanted her. 

#

Meliandra drew her swords as she stared down the dragon as it hovered just paces away from her. It spoke a dialect she wasn’t familiar with, yet a part of her felt like she should know it. She saw Vorstag rushing toward her, his bow drawn, an arrow nocked and ready. Guards were converging on this flying beast, their arrows soaring through the air. Slowly the creature touched the ground. 

The throng of the fighters rushed forward to strike the dragon; Meliandra looked for an opening to strike the creature. She felt braver than she probably should, but her adrenaline moved her right now. 

# 

Vorstag could not believe what he was seeing. One moment Meliandra was striking the dragon from its side, the net thing he knew she had sheathed one of her swords, grabbed the side of its head and leaped upon the neck. While the beast shook its head violently in an effort to dislodge its unwelcome rider. He watched as she slashed at the beast’s head from above. 

“By the Nine, Mel!” he breathed. “How the hell am I supposed to protect your ass up there?” 

# 

The guards watched in amazement as the Breton thrust her sword through the beast’s eye, spraying them all in ocular fluid. The dragon’s pain shook the ground, but the woman held on, continuing her assault. Blood sprayed everywhere as she drove her sword into the side of the creature’s head, a death spasm rolling through it’d dying body. 

# 

He realized too late what was happening. He felt his life quickly slipping away while his soul was being ripped from his body. He had been prepared for anything, anything but this. His body shuddered again as he cried out, “Dovahkiin! No!” Then he ceased to be. 

# 

She jumped off the beast, bathed in its blood. She went to take a step when suddenly a wave of vertigo hit; she fell to her knees, clutching her head. She felt an intense pounding in her head, a vibration that grew louder and louder, drowning out the sounds of the birds and all those around her in a deafening drum. 

# 

“Mel!” Vorstag shouted as he sprinted toward her. Fear gripped him as he prepared to find his friend close to death if not already dead. For the first time in a long time he felt like he had a place to be, that he wasn’t just some sell-sword. He did not want to lose this chance to be a part of something again. 

# 

A guard watched in amazement as a visible red haze lifted from the corpse. “What in the name of the Divines?” It hung above the body for a moment and it seemed like the world around them came to an abrupt halt, as if the very next breath was dependent on this very moment. 

#

Vorstag came to a sudden stop when the haze moved beyond the dragon and drifted toward Meliandra. The air around them grew dry and hot. The haze grew brighter as it began to swirl around the Breton. He began to watch not in fear, but in amazement and wonder, somehow knowing that what he was witnessing was something of vast importance. He just didn’t know what. 

# 

Suddenly the cacophony of drumming began to sort itself out and she began to hear one word over and over in her mind. “Fus.” The word flashed in front of her eyes. She had seen it on the wall when she got the Dragonstone. She saw it as it was written, in the ancient markings unknown to her, but she knew which one read ‘Fus’.

Suddenly her eyes flew open. 

# 

The dragon burst into flames, the sudden rush of heat causing everyone to raise their shields to block it as best they could. The grass ignited around the growing pyre, but soon put themselves out as quickly as they had appeared, leaving bits of bones and scale. 

The guards stared as the haze grew stronger in intensity around the young Breton, frozen in awe at the sight that was unraveling before them. 

# 

It was a thousand voices screaming in her head as she heard conversations with dragons in what seemed like a time long ago while images of events long past flashed before her eyes. The vertigo returned with a ferocity as her mind was assailed with countless images and an untold amount of knowledge passed on from dragon to Breton. 

# 

Vorstag watched as Meliandra collapsed on the ground, bracing herself before she fell face first in the grass. She was visibly shaken and her face was aglow. Her eyes were wide   
with excitement as she tried to stand up on shaky legs. He ran forward, grabbing a hold of her side to support her. “Steady, I got you,” he said as he held her. She looked at him with a quizzical look on her face. “You alright, Mel?” 

She merely stared back at him. 

One of the guards looked at her in amazement as he said, “I can’t believe it… You’re… Dragonborn.” 

“Dragonborn?” she repeated. “What do you mean?” 

Vorstag spoke up. “In the very oldest tales, back when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power.” 

The guard nodded then looked back at the Breton. “That’s what you did, isn’t it? Absorbed that dragon’s power?” 

“I don’t know what happened.” 

“There’s only one way to find out. Try to shout.” At her confused look, he continued on, saying, “According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragons do.” 

Another guard approached and, overhearing, interrupted, “Dragonborn? What are you talking about?” 

“That’s right!” came the voice of another guard. “My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with the Dragon Blood in ‘em. Like old Tiber Septim himself.” 

“I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons,” quipped the other guard. 

“There weren’t any dragons then, idiot. They’re just coming back now for the first time in… forever. But the old tales tell of the Dragonborn who could kill dragons and steal their power. You must be one!” 

Irileth approached the group, staring at the Breton. “Hmph.” She looked at the men and continued. “Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don’t know anything about.” She motioned to the corpse and said, “Here’s a dead dragon, and that’s something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them.” She looked back at the Breton. “but I don’t need some mythical Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me.” 

“You wouldn’t understand, Housecarl. You ain’t a Nord.” 

The Dunmer stared witheringly at the guard. “I’ve been all across Tamriel. I’ve seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this.” She got a stern tone to her voice. “I’d advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends.” She turned to the Breton. “You need to get back to Whiterun and report this to the jarl immediately.” 

Meliandra watched the dark elf walk away. “I really don’t like her,” she grumbled. 

# 

The traveling Nord watched in awe at the sight before him at the Western Watchtower. He too knew the old stories of the Dragonborn, he knew the importance of what he was seeing. He followed from a distance the woman who took the dragon soul for a bit. It wasn’t long before he heard her Shout, toppling her companion. He knew he had to return home. Galmar wasn’t going to like that he was disobeying orders, but he was sure the jarl would be willing to overlook this. The Stormcloak scout hastily turned around and hurried back to Windhelm. 

# 

Meliandra helped Vorstag to his feet, an embarrassed look on her face. He looked at her and laughed. “I asked for it, didn’t I?” He stood there a moment, catching his breath. “I think my rib is bruised,” he chuckled. When he saw the healing glow upon her hands, he waved her off. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Save that magic for yourself. Nords don’t need magic, remember? Plus, it makes for a good story, being Shouted at by the Dragonborn and all that.” 

“Don’t you dare breath a word of this to anyone!” 

“What?” He looked at her, confused. “But, Mel, don’t you get how important this is? You’re the Dragonborn! You’re the only one who can make those things run in fear!” 

“I don’t want anyone to know, damn it!” she snapped. 

He reluctantly nodded his head. “Sure, whatever you say.” He looked down, not sure why she reacted this way, no explanations given, but the look in her eyes was enough to make him back off. “You’re the boss,” he said as he headed in the direction of Whiterun.


	28. And So It Begins

The skies above the city thundered with a deafening roar that shouted “Dovahkiin!” Balgruuf was standing on the Great Porch when he heard it and looked at his younger brother. Their faces were full of curiosity, the two of them being well taught in the stories of old. Balgruuf looked toward the area of the Western Watchtower but the only thing he saw was the rising smoke from the destruction. “Do you think that’s connected, brother?” he heard Hrongar ask. He shrugged. “Possibly. The dragons have returned, is it too much to consider that the Dragonborn would be seen again as well?”

Hrongar walked toward his brother. “What do you think this means?” 

“I don’t know, but one thing I am sure of is that nothing will ever be the same.” 

# 

Meliandra took a deep breath, then opened the door to Dragonsreach. It was quieter than she had expected it to be with her footfalls echoing off the walls. She glanced around and saw the hall nearly empty. She caught sight of Proventus exiting the kitchen and heading for the stairs next to the throne. Just as she was about to call out to him, he turned to look at her. 

“Ah, you’re back. Good. The jarl’s been waiting for your return. Come with me; I’ll take you to him.” 

They followed the older man up the stairs and out the giant doors off to the side. She saw Balgruuf and his brother sitting at the table far off in the sun. They seemed deep in conversation, almost unaware of the Breton approaching. She glanced at Vorstag and mouthed to him, “Not a word.” Then looked back toward the jarl. 

“You heard the summons. What else could it mean? The Greybeards…” Balgruuf trailed off as he turned to see Meliandra approaching. Something in his eyes told her that he knew something had happened. Hrongar, turning to see what had gotten a hold of his brother’s attention, began to smile as Meliandra approached the two of them. “My brother and I were just talking about you.” 

“I’m sure it was pure exaggeration,” she said flatly as she stared at Balgruuf. 

The blond jarl eyed her. “What happened at the Watchtower?” he asked. “Was the dragon there?” 

“Yeah, there was a dragon there. I dealt the deathblow. I think I deserve a reward.” 

“There’s no question about that, Meliandra. Killing a dragon, that was a mighty deed. You’ve earned a place of honor among the heroes of Whiterun.” He leaned closer to her from his seat at the table. “But there must be more to it than that. Did something…strange…happen when the dragon died?” 

The look in her eyes grew cold and hard as she realized she would have to tell the jarl what had happened at the watchtower. “when the dragon died I absorbed some kind of power from it. The men started to call me ‘Dragonborn’.” 

He sat back, his arms in front of him. “So, it’s true. The Greybeards seem to think you’re Dragonborn as well, that was them summoning you.” 

She shook her head. “Greybeards? Who are they?” 

“They’re masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World.”  
“  
What do they want with me?” she asked annoyedly. 

He sighed as he ran his hand down his beard. “The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice – the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu’um, or Shout. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift.” 

“Didn’t you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun?” the younger brother asked. “that was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn’t happened in... centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora.” 

The steward scolded the Thane. “Hrongar, calm yourself. What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as she may be, I don’t see any signs of her being this, what, ‘Dragonborn’.” 

“Nord nonsense? Why you puffed-up ignorant…” Hrongar moved to get up from his seat, only the jarl’s out-stretched hand stayed the man. “These are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the Empire!” 

“Hrongar,” Balgruuf chided, resting his chin upon his hand, “don’t be so hard on Avenicci.” 

The steward spoke up, “I meant no disrespect, of course. It’s just… what do these Greybeards want with her?” 

Balgruuf shook his head at his steward. “That’s the Greybeard’s business, not ours.” He looked at her, pausing a moment before saying, “Come with me, Meliandra. I wish to speak to you alone.” 

She motioned to Vorstag that she was fine then followed the man to his personal quarters. He was quiet on the walk there, for which she was grateful for but at the same time found herself uneasy at his silence. He shut the doors behind her, his hand resting on the wood for a moment, hesitating before turning to face her. He looked upon her with new eyes, this young Breton he had bedded with lust in his heart and who he had claimed forcibly. He held her eyes as he asked, “Are you familiar with the stories of the Dragonborn by chance?” 

“Only a little,” she answered, unsure of the direction he was going. 

“The Dragonborn heroes of old would use the power of their voice to defeat the enemies of Skyrim. In the very oldest of tales, back when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power.” He slowly approached her as he continued, “Wulfharth was Dragonborn. Talos, too – the founder of the Empire, back in the good old days.” He stood before her, reaching out and gently holding her arms, continued, “With the return of the dragons, what this land needs the most is a hero, like the Dragonborn.” He took her chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting her head up to him. “Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think that you’re Dragonborn, who are we to argue?” He leaned in to kiss her lips. 

She returned the kiss but it lacked any feeling for her. She would respond to him but only because the fight wasn’t worth it. She felt him pull her into an embrace; he held her gently, almost lovingly. She found herself giving into his desire despite herself. His hands eventually found their way to the lacing on her clothing, his fingers quickly loosening them adeptly. His want grew within and built up hotly as he undressed her, his tongue taking possession of her mouth. His murmurs o adoration against her body took the form of apologies as he kissed her bruised skin, slowly building up her own desire until she was clawing at his back, begging him to fuck her.

#

Brynjolf sat on the edge of the docks, the night sky darker than normal with heavy cloud cover, the perfect type of night for burglary. But instead of working he sat here with his thoughts on Meliandra. He had never felt so alone, had never felt like he was on a desolate road that he’d walk forever alone. He had never realized how empty he had felt until Meliandra left his side. He realized too late what she had truly meant to him; how he wished he could go back in time and have a chance to make different decisions. He just wanted the chance to make things right with her. 

He heard the creaking of the board and glanced behind him to see Delvin walking up to him. The older man had always come across as an uncle figure to him, full of fatherly advice, willing to put you in your place if you needed it and always the one you wanted to sit back and enjoy a night of drinking with. “What can I do you for, Delvin?” he asked once the man was a few steps behind him. 

“Thought I’d check on you. You’ve been quiet as of late, and you’re often seen sitting outside the city, watching the roads.” He sat down beside him. “Waiting for her to get back isn’t going to make her get here any sooner, Bryn.” 

The redhead looked at him. “That obvious, eh?” 

Delvin nodded. “Yeah, the entire crew is getting concerned about you.” 

“I had the most valuable prize anyone could ever want and I lost it because I didn’t realize just what exactly I had until it was too late.” He shrugged. “How does one pick up and move on knowing that they will never had that one beautiful person in their life again, especially when they work together?” 

“How do you know that you’ll never have her back?” He pulled out a couple bottles of mead from the pack that he had brought out with him and handed one to Bryn. “You gotta prove to her that you want to be with her, that what happened with Vex was truly an accident and that it will never happen again. You need to prove to her that she can trust you again and the best way to do that is to be by her side, have her back, be supportive of her.” 

Brynjolf opened his bottle and took a long pull off it. “I know this, Delvin, and I will be supportive of her. I just don’t think there’s any chance of her ever forgiving me.” He took another long pull off the bottle. “And I honestly don’t blame her either.” 

“Stop being so hard on yourself, kid. Meliandra is a smart girl, she’s going to come around eventually. What you and she have,” he shook his head, “ain’t too many people who get that kind of love.” 

“Love?” Brynjolf echoed. “I haven’t even admitted that to myself, old man.” 

Delvin laughed. “This old man has seen it enough times to know what it is when it appears. And that’s what you got for Meliandra. Now you just have to man up and be patient while she learns to put her faith in you again, you dirty scoundrel.” 

#

Balgruuf watched as Meliandra dressed, enjoying the curves of her frame. He appetite was sated for now, but the more he watched her nakedness move around his room, the more he wanted to indulge in her again. He sighed knowing that he could not. He sat up and began to dress, saying, “You’ve done a great service for me and my city, Meliandra. I promised you a reward for all that you’ve done for Whiterun.” He topped and looked at her, a serious look on his face. “There’s only one reward that is fitting for all that you have done for this city and that is to grant you thane hood. It’s the greatest honor that’s within my power to grant. I’m assigning Lydia to you as your own personal Housecarl. I’ll introduce you two before you leave for High Hrothgar.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“What do you mean, ‘excuse me’? The Greybeards have summoned you. There’s no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It is a tremendous honor.” He paused a moment, a distant look in his eyes. “I envy you, Meliandra. To climb the 7000 Steps again…” He shook his head with a smile playing on his lips. “I made the pilgrimage once. High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place. Very…disconnected from the troubles of this world. I wonder that the Greybeards even notice what’s going on down here. They haven’t seemed to care before.” He stood in front of her now, pulling her close to him. “No matter. Go to High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you. Then come home to Dragonsreach.” He leaned in and kissed her once more, unsure of when he would see her again.


	29. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra returns to Riften; things begin to look up between her and Brynjolf.

He laid in bed, his eyes staring at the ceiling but not really seeing anything. He had opted to sleep in one of the rooms instead of out with the others. With so much on his mind as of late he had very little desire to join them in his down time. They were slowly refilling the vault but they had a long way to go until they regained the former glory that they had once known. Mercer had effectively dismantled the Guild’s connections from within. The more Brynjolf had reached out to all their old connections, the more he realized just how much Mercer had screwed them over. 

Brynjolf ran his hand down his face, slowly preparing himself to face the day. He had slept little that night, nor the night before, nor the night before that. In fact, he wasn’t exactly sure when the last night he had not had any trouble sleeping was but he was very sure that it was when Meliandra had laid beside him. 

That was something else that Mercer had destroyed, the ebb and flow of the internal workings of the Guild by sowing seeds of distrust and jealousy among its members. Everyone felt the tension between Vex and Brynjolf and avoided being around when the two of them had to have dealings with each other. He sighed, wishing things would just get back to normal. 

He climbed out of bed, silently groaning at the increasing need to relieve himself. A few minutes later he was pulling on his boots, intending to go up to the market and looking for some easy marks. He walked down the passageway and into the Cistern. He could hear the unmistakable sounds of Vipir’s snores echoing off the stone walls and shook his head as he thought about the irony of such a noisy sleeper being as quiet as a mouse when he was sneaking through a mark’s house. 

He stopped short as he saw the raven-haired woman sitting at the desk, her head bent down as she read through the Guild’s ledger. He stood there, not believing his own eyes as he watched her run her fingers through her hair, pulling it to the back as she did so, showing her face. She looked deep in thought, every so often taking the quill, dipping it into the inkwell and writing something on a piece of paper, tapping her thumb against the desk every so often. He smiled when he saw her biting her lip the way she did whenever she was thinking a problem through. 

As much as he wanted to stand there and watch her from afar, he knew that he could not. Business needed to be attended to and he was the one with the task of showing Meliandra the ropes of running this hodgepodge of thieves. Taking a deep breath, he walked towards her. 

# 

She looked up when her ears picked up footsteps approaching. She sighed as she laid her eyes upon Brynjolf. One of the moments she had been dreading was finally here. She sat back in the chair, her eyes set in a firm gaze as she prepared herself for whatever her former lover had to say. “Yes, Brynjolf? Something I can help you with?” 

“When’d you get in, lass?” he asked, smiling. 

She sighed. “A couple hours ago I guess it was. It was quite the trip from Whiterun.” She paused to see what kind of reaction would appear on his face; his jaw set suddenly, his eyes got hooded and when he spoke, his voice was flat and strained. 

“Whiterun again?” 

She smiled to herself as she answered, “Picked up a job for the jarl there. Well, to be more exact, for his court wizard.” 

Brynjolf arched his eyebrow. “Really? A job for the court wizard?” He raised his eyebrow. “And what was that?” 

She heard the light-heartedness in his voice and took it as a good sign; she began to relax. “He wanted some old artifact up in Bleak Falls Barrow.” 

He nodded. “Hope you were paid well.” He pulled a chair up to the desk and sat across from Meliandra. 

She studied him for a moment. His green eyes stared back at her, his smile touching them. His voice was light, the way it would be when they would talk before… before Vex.  
She reminded herself of that as she answered, saying, “Yes, I received a good amount of gold in payment.” She smiled as she picked up the bottle of mead that sat next to the ledger and took a drink. She swirled the contents of the bottle around, staring at the bottle before looking back at him out of the corner of her eye. “I’ve already put a portion of that in the vault; Delvin was still awake when I got here and we opened it up.” 

“So,” he started as he leaned back in the chair, “are you ready to accept that you’re the new Guild Master now?” 

She sighed. A hint of resentment rode her voice as she replied to him, “You know, Bryn, I still don’t understand why none of you have stepped up to the position instead. I don’t have the experience that any of you guys do. For fuck’s sake, I’m still a padfoot.” 

He chuckled. “Lass, this organization needs a fresh face at the helm, one with young ideas. You’ve proven yourself, Meli, more than any padfoot ever did. There’s absolutely no one more deserving than you, love.” 

“I guess it’s something I will have to get used to.” She tapped the ledger with her index finger. “I see we’ve been getting some jobs done still between Delvin and” she hesitated for half a breath “Vex. What’s the word through Tonila and Vekel’s connections.” 

“Just the regular news. The war going on isn’t helping us any. More and more patrols, increased guards in the major cities, and it doesn’t matter which side is doing the checking. And we don’t dare align ourselves with either side” 

She shook her head, agreeing with him. “No, we don’t. We’ve got enough problems on our hands; we don’t need any war profiteering to be added into the mix.” 

He leaned forward, a twinkle in his eye. “So, what do you propose we do to start bringing in more gold to the Guild, Boss?” 

# 

There was a loud rapping on his door that brought him out of his sleep. He threw his cloak on, walked to the door and threw it open, his eyes ablaze with heated anger. The guard just on the other side wore a full faced helmet, but his discomfort was noticeable in his voice as he reported that a scout had returned to the palace early, and that he had some information to tell the jarl and the jarl alone. Ulfric sighed deeply as he looked at the man crossly before turning around and put his pant and a tunic on. A scout in the middle of the night that refused to speak to anyone but him made him slightly uneasy. He started to exit his room when he decided to take his axe from its place on the wall, just in case. He proceeded to head down the stairs, his thoughts scattered. 

He entered the war room, a young man who had probably not yet seen twenty winters sat at the table by the entrance. When he saw Ulfric coming through the door, he stood very quickly, his back ramrod straight and his arms at his side. “You have something you want to tell me?” came Ulfric’s calm, commanding and authoritative voice. 

The scout nodded, his voice rushed. “I was in Whiterun Hold, approaching the Western Watchtower when a dragon attacked it. The dragon was killed but it’s what happened after the beast was slain that made me turn around and return here, my Lord. The dragon’s soul… it was taken by one of the fighters.” 

Ulfric’s eyebrow rose. “Its soul was…taken? Like the stories of old?” 

The man nodded his head fervently. “Just like the stories of the Dragonborn, sir.” 

“Were you able to get a look at this person?” 

He shook his head, a frown on his face. “I’m sorry, my Lord, not a good one. All I could tell was that it was a woman.” 

The older man nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Get yourself down to the barracks, get some food and rest. You can set back out tomorrow, but come see my steward before you leave.” With that, he dismissed the scout. He began pacing the room, his thought churning as he realized what this meant. Helgen’s destruction by a dragon had been a blessing, if it hadn’t have been for the beast all of them would be a head shorter. 

Suddenly the thoughts flowed through his mind like a stream which burst its banks after a winter storm. A warrior such as the Dragonborn would make a formidable ally, one that would make the Empire take a step back and rethink continuing this unnecessary bloodshed. But he had to ensure that the Dragonborn would ally herself to him. He needed to find the Dragonborn and convince them to join his fight. 

# 

The day had been long; Meliandra was tired. She had started to turn in using the bed she often had slept in by herself when Brynjolf had stopped her. “No, lass. You should have some privacy tonight,” he had said softly, resting his hand on her shoulder. She had protested but he was insistent on ignoring them. They had had a good day, finding themselves able to be at ease together enough that they had spent part of the evening laughing at each other’s joke and light-hearted jabs. And protest as much as she did, she knew that he was right, she needed some privacy so she could have a decent night’s sleep. 

She was quiet as they walked to a room in the back where she could sleep without being disturbed; Brynjolf wondered what was on her mind but respected her silence. He opened the door for Meliandra then followed her in, leaving the door slightly ajar. “Meli,” he spoke softly “we need to talk about us, about what happened.” 

She looked at him, her eyes darkened as her voice went cold. “Why did you have to go and bring that up?” She paused. “And there is no ‘us’.” 

He sighed; he had feared she would react like this. “Meli, we can’t go on ignoring what happened. You’ve got to give me a chance to explain.” 

“What do you need to explain?” she snapped. “I don’t care what you have to say. You made the choice to fuck her. You betrayed me, Bryn. End of story.” 

“You’re right,” he snapped back at her. “I had the choice and I made the wrong decision. Oh boy, did I ever make the wrong decision. I wasn’t thinking too clearly at that point in time, I’d like to add in my defense, not that it’s gonna matter to you; I can tell that already. But dammit, lass. I never wanted to hurt you.” He reached up to stroke her cheek, but she pulled away; he let his hand drop with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Meliandra. If I could erase the hurt I caused, I would do so without hesitation. All I ask is for a chance to make  
things right.” 

She looked at him, a look of confused astonishment upon her face. “Make things right?” she repeated, incredulously. “You were ready to kill me because of Mercer and his lies. You believed those lies, Brynjolf. How are you going to make things right with me about that?” 

“How was I supposed to know that Mercer had lied? That he had tried to kill you to save his own skin? That he had set you up? Shor’s Balls, Meli, for twenty-five years we all thought that Karliah had murdered Gallus. And we were all ready to kill her.” He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes closed. “I’m sorry I brought it up, lass. Forget I said anything.” He turned to walk out of the room before stopping at the door. He turned to look at her, a sadness touching his eyes. “I hope one day we can get past this.” 

He walked out, shutting the door behind him. As he looked up he saw Vex just steps away, a look of remorse shadowing on her face. Before he could say anything, she turned and walked away.


	30. Another Chapter Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *teaser chapter*

She stood hunched over the map of dragon burial mounds, studying them. Every so often she’d pick up a book and flip through the pages, looking for an answer. The tablet she had paid Farengar to get for her was helping but she felt like she was missing something. What she would do to have that crazy old man here with her to help her decipher all the signs. 

She heard a commotion upstairs; checking to ensure that her dagger was in the folds of her dress, she headed upstairs closing the false back panel then the wardrobe door, she made sure nothing was amiss before opening the door of her room. A pair of traveling Imperials were speaking hurriedly about a dragon attack outside of Whiterun, but it was what they said about what happened after the dragon was slain that had caught her attention. As they described the sight of the dragon’s soul being absorbed by an unknown warrior she realized that this was the reason that she had heard the Greybeards some days ago. 

A thought occurred to her and she smiled. She had a little adventure to begin.


	31. Windhelm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra pulls a job for Delvin but things don't go according to plan.

The three of them walked into the city of Windhelm during a fierce winter snowstorm, their cloaks pulled close to their bodies. Meliandra was thankful that the inn was directly in front of them as they headed inside, grateful at the thought of a warm fire, some mulled wine and local gossip. The sound of a lyre and the ballad of Ragnar the Red greeted their ears as the door opened. A middle-aged blonde looked up from her sweeping as they walked in, a sour look seemingly etched on her face. “Come on in, just stoked the fire. Got some fresh baked bread, how about a bowl of stew with some bread and fresh churned butter?” 

Meliandra looked to Vorstag and Lydia; she could swear she heard the housecarl’s stomach rumble at the mention of food. She looked back to the innkeeper and nodded, “There some seating around the fire?” 

The blonde nodded, “Aye, upstairs. Get yourselves warm. Shall I bring you something?” 

Lydia piped up, “Some of that stew and bread and a jug of mead. Don’t forget that butter either.” 

Vorstag chimed in and added to the order, then headed up the stairs while Meliandra and Lydia stood at the foot of the stairs. The Breton looked at her housecarl and asked her why she hesitated to join Vorstag. 

“My Thane-“ 

Meliandra interrupted her saying, “My name is not ‘My Thane’. Call me Meliandra. I don’t really want to be reminded of my thanehood.” 

Lydia frowned. “I’m sorry, Meliandra. It’s just…, I’m sworn to protect you. I should remain by your side.” 

Meliandra looked at her wide-eyed. “You know, you take your job way too seriously. Live it up some, Lydia. Go upstairs and wait for me. I’ll be up there shortly; I’m going to get us a room for the night and leave my stuff in there first, alright?” She watched as the Nord grudgingly agreed and climbed up the stairs. She approached the woman, studying her as she did. Once she secured the room and paid for everything, she went to the rented room and shut the door.

She began going through her pack and located her satchel that held her burglary tools and enchanted jewelry. She slipped her rings on her fingers, placed her enchanted necklace on and changed into her boots that were enchanted with muffling but she stayed in her traveling clothes. She set her bag in the wardrobe and exited the room, making her way upstairs. 

Vorstag sat at a small table by the fire, a tankard of ale in his hand as he spoke with a man clad in steel armor, a sellsword by the appearance of him. Lydia sat not far away, looking uncomfortable among the grouping of Stormcloak soldiers. Meliandra made her way to the empty chair and sat down, noticing her own bowl of stew with a chunk of bread. She hadn’t realized how hungry she actually was until the aroma of the stew assailed her nose making her mouth water. Soon, she found herself using her bread to clean the sides of the bowl she ate from, sopping up every bit of broth she could. She was slightly disappointed when she was finished but the fullness of her stomach was evidence of her satisfaction. 

While Lydia and Meliandra spoke idly about random subjects, the Breton paid attention to the talk of the townspeople, listening for any gossip that would be of benefit for her and the Guild. It wasn’t the loud voices that got her attention but the hushed whispers of the old women speaking of the chanting coming out of the old Aretino place. She listened with interest how they spoke of how the husband had been a Stormcloak soldier and was dead three winters now and then how last winter the wife was taken in death, leaving the boy orphaned. Apparently, the boy had been sent to Honorhall Orphanage in Riften after that. Some months later people had started reporting seeing the flickering of lights from within as well as ominous chanting, yet the house was locked up as tight as it was the day the jarl’s men locked it up. 

Meliandra arched an eyebrow as she finished her drink. ‘Maybe,’ she thought to herself, ‘I’ll just have to go check out this ghost.” 

# 

The door shut softly, the clicking of the latch barely audible. She slipped her hood off her head and onto her shoulders as she walked around, gazing in awe at the assortment of weapons in glass cases and ganging on the walls. Delvin had instructed her to steal enough things of value that they’d know that only the Thieves Guild would be brazen enough to steal it. She had a feeling that stealing something from the jarl’s personal armory would be exactly the thing to make the people of Windhelm remember the Thieves Guild and let them know that they were very much alive and well. 

The jarl of Windhelm had an interesting collection of both armor and weaponry. There were mannequins in Ancient Nord Armor with ancient Nord weapons on the racks next to them. She approached one mannequin that stood alone from all the others, eyeing the armor that dressed it, a worn, beat up shield attached to its hand. But it was the rings on its fingers that caught her attention. The gems were flawless, perfect. And the gold and silver were gleaming brightly as if they had just been made. 

Smiling, she removed the rings and slipped them into her satchel. She glanced around the room, her eyes quickly scanning the room for anything else of value. Seeing nothing, she slipped the hood back on and made her way out of the armory before drinking the potion of invisibility she had taken out. She thought she heard a footstep just down the hall, but she saw nothing. Not wanting to break the effect of the potion, she decided not to cast a detect life spell and made her way out of the palace. 

# 

She didn’t have much trouble finding the Aretino house. She saw no one around and worked the lock with her pick, finding success in just a few tries. The home was dimly lit by a few small candles. She heard a young boy’s voice up the stairs but couldn’t make out the words. As she got closer she could him more clearly. 

“Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear.” Over and over she heard these words as she climbed the stairs, following the voice to candle-lit room. It seemed like she had walked in on some kind of ritual; there was a skeleton on the floor, along with a human heart and rotting flesh encircled by candles. She watched as the child rubbed the blade of an old, rusty dagger with petals of Nightshade, his voice filled with exhaustion as he lamented, “How long must I do this? I keep praying. Please, Night Mother, why won’t you answer me?” He dropped the petals and began to chant again as he repeatedly stabbed the effigy on the floor. 

She stepped on a board that creaked loudly, startling the boy. The dagger fell to the floor with a clang as he fell backward, a look of shock on his face. He worked his lips but no sound came forth for a moment as he stared at her. “You okay, kid?” she asked, slightly concerned. 

“It worked!” he cried out, jumping to his feet. “I knew you’d come! I just knew it! I did the Black Sacrament, over and over. With the body, and the…things.” He motioned toward the bloody mess on the floor. “And then you came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood!” 

Meliandra’s mouth opened. “You’ve been trying to get the Dark Brotherhood? Why in Oblivion would a child be in need of an assassin?” 

The boy looked down. “My mother died and I’m all alone now. The jarl had me sent to Honorhall Orphanage in Riften. It was terrible there!” He looked back up at her, his eyes lit by the flames of his anger. “the headmistress is an evil, cruel woman. They call her Grelod the Kind. But she’s not kind. She’s terrible. To all of us.” He shrugged and ran his foot from side to side in a small spot. “So, I ran away, and came home. And performed the Black Sacrament.” He smiled as he looked at her. “Now you’re here! And you can kill Grelod the Kind!” 

#

She walked out of the Aretino house and headed back to the inn; she thought about the boy and his situation. She had heard mixed stories of the old woman who ran the orphanage. She couldn’t just take the boy at his word and even if what he had said was true, as the leader of the Thieves Guild, she could not risk getting caught in Riften for committing a murder. Yet the pain in the kid’s eyes spoke to her; she had seen that same look reflected in her own eyes when she was a young child. She remembered how she had felt when so much had been taken from her at such a young age. Part of her wanted to help him. 

She turned the corner, the inn a short walk away. Her thoughts went to the warm room she had rented and the bed within. She was tired and her mind was heavy with thoughts of Brynjolf and now weighed down even more as she thought of the Aretino boy. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she wanted to help the boy, her only concern was how would she get away with it? Slightly shaking her head, she decided she’d give it more thought the next day on their return to Riften. 

She stopped abruptly. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, the unmistakable feeling of someone watching her tingling up her spine. She listened carefully for any sound as she studied the shadows, relying heavily upon the heightened senses she possessed, a genetic gift from her father. She started reaching for her dagger when a pair of soldiers stepped out of the darkness, both having their swords drawn. 

She took a step back, then turned and headed toward the city gate. She could easily take two guards on at once, but she did not want to draw attention to herself. She’d have to find a way to get a message to Vorstag and Lydia inside the inn, but she could not afford to get herself arrested. 

Once again, she stopped short as the guards by the city’s entrance drew their swords and stepped in middle of her path. She turned in the direction of the docks, dreading the idea of an escape through the icy waters but saw no other option. Mid-step she realized escape was not feasible as more guards appeared. 

“Shor’s balls,” she said exasperatedly. She watched as an older man walked toward her. He wore a Stormcloak officer’s uniform, but one she had only seen in passing on her travels. He held no weapon, though a Warhammer was strapped to his back. The look in his eyes told her that trying to run would not bode well for her. He stopped an arm’s length away from her. 

“You got a big set on you, don’t you, girl?” 

She arched her eyebrow, a smirk appearing on her face. “You have no idea, old-timer.” 

“Why don’t you give me one then?” he responded. 

She glanced at the guards then back at him. “Maybe another time, Gramps, when it’s not so…crowded.” 

“If you ever get the chance.” He motioned to a couple of the guards. “Get her in irons and take her down to the cells. Make sure she doesn’t have anything on her and double up the guard on her.” He looked at her dead in the eyes as he said, “I don’t know how you managed to get into Ulfric’s personal armory without anyone noticing you, but you sure the fuck won’t be sneaking out of your cell anytime soon, thief.”


	32. The Fly in the Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulfric confronts the thief only to discover it's Meliandra. Ulfric gains the upper hand.

Galmar turned away from the cell door in angered frustration, the Breton’s chuckling echoing off the stone walls. She refused to cooperate, to tell him who she was, nothing but sarcasm and riddles. They had stripped her of her clothing, throwing her a pair of torn up rags and put her belongings in a chest. Galmar looked at the satchel in his hand and shook his head. Ulfric was going to be livid when he found out about this. 

He made his way through the cold passageways that snaked through the old palace, lit torches dancing shadows upon the walls that somehow seemed ominous to him today. Servants started to make their way through these corridors as the night slowly began to give way to the dawn; they avoided the surly general as they passed him. 

The passageway that connected to Ulfric’s wing was quiet save for the echoes of his bootsteps. As he ascended the stairwell he noticed that the sun was beginning to break over the horizon; he estimated he’d been interrogating the woman for around three hours and he had learned absolutely nothing. Ulfric was definitely not going to be happy. 

# 

Ulfric looked up from strapping his boots on, his hand reaching toward the end table where his dagger was but stopped when Galmar walked through the door. The look on his general’s face made him sit up straight and ask in a harsh tone, “What is it, Galmar?” 

The older man held his hand out, handing him a leather satchel. “Look inside.” 

He took the satchel, opened and peered inside. His eyes widened and his jaw set firmly as he emptied the bag onto the end table next to him, watching as lockpicks, potion bottles and his father’s rings bounced off the wood. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. 

“Some woman managed to get all the way into your armory without being noticed. A guard on his rounds saw her leaving the armory and managed to catch a glimpse of her before she drank an invisibility potion. Elda confirmed a traveling Breton matching the description of what the guard saw had rented a room earlier. We waited until she returned to Candlehearth and apprehended her.” 

The jarl finished putting his boots on then stood up and walked over to his wardrobe. Opening it, he asked, “So, you have her in a cell?” Galmar nodded. Ulfric nodded in return as he took his cloak from the wardrobe, and, putting it on, said, “Who is she and who does she work for? And how in Oblivion did she get all the way into my armory without being noticed?” 

“We don’t know.” 

Ulfric stared at him. “What do you mean, you don’t know?” 

“She won’t talk.” He paused then continued, “Well, she talks – she’s got quite the mouth on her – but she won’t answer any of my questions.” 

Ulfric’s eyebrow rose. “Oh really?” He smirked, a cold look in his eyes as he walked toward the door. “I’ll just have to go have a little talk with the thieving bitch myself then.” 

# 

Meliandra lay on the hay pile in the corner of her damp cell. She had her arm thrown across her eyes but she was keeping the guards in her sight. They sat at the table for a while playing a game of chance while making rude comments to her. She ignored their insults as she continued watching and learning about her captors. 

Soon they began to think she had fallen asleep and began to ignore her presence completely. Truth was she wouldn’t be able to sleep even if she tried. She knew she was in serious trouble. She had been too headstrong, too confident, and that had cost her her freedom. No one from the Guild was going to come break her out and she had no way to get a message out to Vorstag or Lydia. She was going to have to bide her time until she could figure her way out of this. 

She heard one of the guards say something about stepping out to Candlehearth Inn then one stood, stretched and left, saying he’d return in a couple hours. His companion sat there for a moment then walked to the cell she was in. He stood there staring at her; she didn’t need to see his face to know he that he was doing so in a led manner. Her clothes had been taken with her belongings and they had given her rags that barely covered her body and clung tightly to her form. 

She continued ignoring the guard, even as he began to say crude comments while beginning to rub himself through his clothing. She felt her anxiety begin to rise as she wondered what this guard was going to do. 

But what happened next had her anxiety rise even more. 

# 

Ulfric saw the guard in front of the cell, saw him reaching for the key to the cell while rubbing his groin and heard the comments coming from the guard. His mind flashed back to the time he was a prisoner of the Aldmeri Dominion, he remembered being abused by the guards, he remembered everything that had happened to him as a prisoner of the Thalmor. His rage exploded in a single breath as he Shouted “Fus”, sending the guard across the room and slamming him into the wall. He stormed across the jail, grabbed the guard by his uniform and pulled the man to his fee before punching him in the face, breaking the man’s nose. He drew his arm back to strike him again but Galmar grabbed his arm, stopping him. He sneered at the guard as he released his grip on the man, letting him drop to the ground with a resounding thud as his helmet smacked the wall. “You’re relieved of your duties,” he growled. “Permanently.” He glanced at Galmar and said, “Throw him in a cell.” He then walked over to the cell the thief was in and looked in, ready to begin interrogating her. 

As his eyes took in the ebony of her hair and the amber of her eyes he recalled seeing her as she leapt out the side of the tower, flames and destruction surrounding them. He had heard from Ralof how she had aided him in his escape and how she had helped him get to Riverwood. He knew that Ralof had attempted to recruit her as a Stormcloak. In fact, Ralof had said that she had been quite receptive to the idea of enlisting with the Stormcloaks, yet she had never made the attempt. 

“Meliandra Valeria,” he said in a commanding voice, a smile tugging at his lips. The satisfaction he felt on having a foot up already resonated in his eyes. 

She looked up at him, her surprised look replaced quickly with a look of defiance. “Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm. Good to see you again, though I must admit to some surprise at you remembering my name.” 

He smirked openly as he said dryly, “When a name such as yours is attached to a mouth as smart as the one that kept talking shit to the guards, it’s a little hard to forget.” Galmar cleared his throat; Ulfric waved him away, an amused glance on his face then he turned his attention back to the Breton. His voice slowly rose in anger while he held the satchel up for her to see, saying, “So, would you care to explain to me why the fuck you have decided to steal from me?”

She smiled at him; he noticed the smile did not touch her eyes which stayed cold and hard. “I’m poor.” 

“Bullshit,” came the gruff voice of Galmar as he opened the chest with her belongings and pulled out the ebony dagger and handed it to Ulfric. 

The jarl examined the blade, admiring the quality of the craftsmanship. He checked the sharpness and smiled. Everything about the dagger spoke of its value from the ebony it was made with to the jewels and gold inlay. “If you’re so poor, why haven’t you sold this? Or is this stolen as well?” 

He watched as her eyes narrowed and stared back at him, answering tersely, “It has too much sentimental value for me to even consider selling it.” 

He tilted his head as he looked at her. “Oh? So, it’s not stolen then?” 

“No. It’s not. I won it in a game of chance.” 

He looked at her quizzically. “But you said it has sentimental value? If you won it in a game of chance, what kind of sentiment does it hold?” 

“None of your damn business,” she snapped. 

He laughed. “There’s that mouth I remember.” He sheathed the dagger and placed it in the folds of his cloak. “Well, until that pretty little mouth of yours starts talking, this beauty belongs to me.” 

With that, he turned and walked out. 

# 

Ralof waited for the jarl to address him; he had been told by Galmar there was something the jarl had wanted to speak to him about a personal matter of sorts, He had become one of Ulfric’s most trusted men but he was still surprised that he would request him personally. Ulfric motioned for him to follow him into the war room and then dismissed everyone from the room. Indicting the chairs at the table, they sat down. 

“Do you recall the young woman who helped you escape Helgen?” 

The blond Nord smiled as he thought of the raven-haired maiden that helped him escape the carnage that was once Helgen, nodding. “What about her?” 

“She’s being held in one of our cells.”

He looked surprised. “What did she do?” 

Ulfric placed the rings between them on the table, light from the window glinting off the gold as the jewels cast reflections on the wall. “She was caught stealing my father’s rings from my armory. She refuses to answer Galmar’s questions. I was going to do the interrogating until I realized who she was and then I recalled you had already formed some kind of relationship with her?” Ulfric leaned on the table and looked directly at him. “Perhaps she will be more forthcoming with you?” 

“You want me to interrogate her, sir?” 

He shook his head. “No, not interrogate. Just get her willing to talk to us.” He picked up a goblet and poured some ale from a jug into it. “I want to question her… privately.” 

#


	33. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vorstag and Lydia set out to break Meliandra out of jail

Vorstag and Lydia had stayed up discussing what course of action they were going to need to take to get Meliandra out of the Windhelm jail. 

He had been sitting at the bar when a guard came in, sat down beside him and began drinking while rambling on about how monotonous his job was. Vorstag was about to get up and leave when the guard had started talking at length about the little Breton sitting in the jail. Paying for the man’s next drink, he began to piece together enough information to figure out he was speaking about Meliandra. He made sure he plied the guard with plenty of mead, ensuring he was so drunk that he could barely stand, then he went and woke up Lydia, telling her what he had learned. 

The housecarl was furious. She was having a problem with the fact that Meliandra would go out by herself regardless of any perceived dangers to herself. She wanted to demand the release of her thane but Vorstag reminded her that Meliandra did not want anyone knowing that she was a thane of Whiterun, especially if she had been caught stealing from the jarl of Windhelm on a job from the Thieves Guild. 

They finally decided that they were going to break her out, but neither one of them had an idea of what the jail looked like or even where it was in the palace. “Well, what do you propose we do?” Lydia snapped. “Walk right in?” 

Vorstag looked at his boots in the corner, a muffling enchantment on them as strong as the day Meliandra had put the enchantment on. He smiled as he looked back at the housecarl. “Something like that.” 

# 

Galmar stood in front of his longtime friend, frustration and confusion growing as the morning had gone on. “Why have the lad talk to her?” he inquired. 

Ulfric sat at his table, a goblet filled with Nordic Mead in his hand. “She’s the one who helped him escape Helgen. From how he spoke about her I could tell that they had shared an experience that bonded them.” 

Galmar snorted. “You mean he fucked her.” 

Ulfric half smiled but shook his head. “I’m not going to venture into that discussion, but if he did, do you blame him?” 

Galmar’s eyebrow rose as he eyed the jarl. “Pussy is pussy. I really don’t care one way or another what the bitch looks like; as long as she makes me cum, that’s all I care about.” 

Ulfric said dryly, “It’s a wonder you don’t have an army of your own running around, nipping at your heels.” 

Again, he snorted. “No, I’ve been lucky enough that the Divines haven’t cursed me with a bastard yet.” 

“You’re all heart, Galmar.” He took a long drink of his mead as he gazed toward the window, the midday sun shining brightly through. “At Helgen I had a heavy heart not just because we had been captured and facing death, and not because I thought our cause was going to die that day. But because I had no son to carry out my legacy, my name. I’d be nothing but a notation in the history annals of Skyrim.” 

“But you are the jarl. You are expected to have an heir. Anyhow, you think she’ll talk to Ralof then because of Helgen?” 

Nodding, Ulfric answered. “That is my hope, that he can convince her to tell me what I want to know without it coming down to me having to use… other means.” He took another drink. “I have a feeling that little thief can be of use to us.” 

# 

The imprisoned guard laid upon the hay pile, nothing but some rags covering his groin. Even though he had been stripped of his duties and his position, he felt no remorse for his actions. His fellow guard had also been relieved of his duties but since all he had done was skip out on his duties, he would retain his position. He also wasn’t sporting a broken nose. 

Despite these things, he had made it a point to continue to harass the Breton thief whenever he had the chance, which was what he was doing at this moment. “You really are lucky, bitch, you know that?” He laughed. “I was going to pound that sweet ass of yours if Ulfric hadn’t walked in when he did. And you know what?” He paused a moment before continuing. “There’s nothing your pretty little ass would have been able to do about it.” 

He heard a chuckle from the next cell and for some reason it gave him the chills. “You think so, little man?” he heard her ask icily. “I bet I’d surprise you.” And then she laughed and it echoed off the walls. “I would definitely knock you on your fucking ass.” 

# 

Vorstag and Lydia slipped below through the passageways below the Palace of the Kings. They had made their way into the palace by means of the sewers. Lydia had turned up her nose at the idea but after hearing Vorstag’s argument and saw his logic, she reluctantly agreed. Lydia’s nose was cringed as they made their way through the foul-stench of the underbelly of the palace and he could tell that she was fighting a bout of nausea. He teased her about it a little, but picked up quickly that she was not in a jovial mood. 

“I just want to find the jail and find a way to get Meliandra out,” Lydia was complaining. “Then I want to get this stench off me.” 

He nodded as he moved ahead. He had long ago tuned out her complaining but was starting to realize that the housecarl seemed to know how to do nothing else.   
Some distance ahead he could make out light coming from above, water flowing out from some kind of pipe. He motioned to the brunette then pointed toward the light. “What do you want to bet that that lead us to Mel?” 

“If it doesn’t lead us to her, you’re going to be scrubbing all this shit off my armor.” 

“If it doesn’t lead to her, I’ll buy you a new suit of armor.” 

She raised her eyebrow. “That sounds even better. Let’s go.” 

# 

Ralof made his way through the passageways to the jail, a smile upon his face as his thoughts went back to that night in Riverwood at his sister’s house when the full impact of what they had survived had hit them. They had been sitting along the wall of the house, hidden by the pines and the face of the mountain, drinking bottles of Black-Briar Mead in an effort to calm the nerves that seemed to jump at every sound. He remembered how the light of the moon made her skin seem to shine; he had never seen beauty such as hers and was entranced with her. He had held her as the shock hit her and her body began to tremble; he remembered how it had felt to have a woman in his arms again after being alone all those months on special detail for Ulfric. 

The last time he had seen her was the next morning. He had woken to the sounds of his sister cooking while his nose picked up the scent of Nordic coffee being made over the fire. He had gotten out of bed, careful to not wake the raven-haired Breton next to him, wrapped a cloak around his half-naked body, and went to sit at the table. 

“Brother,” she had greeted him, a sly smile on her face. “You two were up late last night.” 

“Did we keep you guys awake?” 

She had laughed as she gave him some coffee. “That’s an understatement, Ralof. Frodnar can sleep through an earthquake, thankfully.” She paused before continuing. 

“Someone needs to go to Whiterun and warn Jarl Balgruuf about the dragon.” She had glanced at the sleeping woman on the bed then back to her kid brother. “Do you think you friend will do it?” 

He had nodded and went to wake her, telling her that the danger of the dragon must be brought to the attention of the Whiterun jarl. She was in complete agreement with him and began to prepare to leave for the hold capital. Gerdur had given her enough supplies to see her through until she reached her destination. 

An hour after he had woken her up, he stood at the door, his hands on her shoulders as he gave her directions to Whiterun. “You’ll come to Windhelm and join up with us?” he had asked her. When she had nodded he had cupped her face and looked into her eyes. “Good, because I want to see you again.” He had gently placed a kiss on her lips before she left for Whiterun. 

He had waited for her, had begun to suspect that some unforeseen fate had befallen her, and then he had begun to doubt that he would see her again. Now to discover she was being held there in the palace sent him into a state of elation that was tempered by the confusion of why she hadn’t come sooner and why was she trying to steal from the jarl? 

These were the same question that Ulfric wanted answers to. And that was what Ralof was going to do. 

# 

Meliandra had her eyes closed, concentrating on the sounds that were coming from the grate in the corner outside her cell along the wall. The sounds were gradually getting more noticeable and she began to place what she was hearing, footsteps treading water, hushed voices, one belonging to a male, the other a female. After a moment, she realized it was Vorstag and Lydia making their way through the foulness of the bowels of the palace. A smirk graced her face. 

The sound of a bird chirping echoed off the walls as she whistled softly. She was answered by a similar chirping that echoed through the passageway below her feet and the smirk turned into a grin. They chirped at each other until she heard him just outside her cell. She stood by the cell door and spoke softly. “I told you that learning those would be helpful if we ever couldn’t talk to each other.” 

“Yeah, yeah, Mel,” came the laughing voice of her companion. “What’s the deal then? What do you need us to do to get you out of here?” 

“I need my gear that’s in the prisoner chest across the room for starters.” 

“I don’t have your lockpicking skills, Mel, and I don’t think Lydia does either.” 

“In my bag at the inn are bottles of lockpicking potions as well as some invisibility potions, you can use those,” she said exasperatedly. “Just get those and get back here. Bring me some lockpicks and I’ll get my damn self out!”

“That would probably be the best option, Mel,” he grumbled. 

Meliandra began to say something when she heard footsteps coming down stone steps. “Ssshhhh…” she hissed quietly. “Sounds like one of the guards is coming down here.” 

She laid on her pile of hay and closed her eyes to give the impression that she was sleeping, even making snoring sounds. She listened as the steps approached her cell then stopped. A moment later she heard a key in the lock and the sound of the tumbler turning. She concentrated on a spell, not knowing if she was going to have to conjure a sword or not, but she wasn’t going to be abused by a guard like the one had had in mind doing. 

She sensed the guard’s presence by her feet; she tensed as she readied herself for a confrontation.


	34. Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ralof tries to convince Meliandra to talk to Ulfric.

“Whoa!” 

Ralof jumped back as he heard the spell crackle to life as Meliandra jumped to her feet, her eyes snapping open with a fury behind them. “Hey!” He snapped. “It’s just me! What the fuck?” Amber eyes blinked at him in confusion before comprehension set in leaving her staring, a glint of impishness in her eyes. “Hey, now, what’s got you so jumpy?” He glanced at the conjured sword in her hand then back at her. “You know, I bet if you got rid of that magic sword of yours, things would be a tad bit less tense.” 

She looked at the sword in her hand, tilted her head to the side, then waved off the spell, the sword disappearing in the blink of an eye. “I forgot about you and your infernal use of magic,” he said flatly. 

“Oh, come on, now, Ralof. Magic’s not bad at all. And I’ve learned some new spells since you and I last saw each other.” She grinned at him. “I didn’t know you were back in Windhelm.” 

“Maybe if you had come to Windhelm sooner you’d have known I had come home a long time ago.” He glanced around the cell, moving just his eyes. “Instead I discover that when you finally decide to come visit me, I’ve got to come to the city jail to see you. What kind of welcome am I supposed to give you if you’re locked up in jail?” 

“If I had realized you were back I would have made it more of a point to come and see you first.” 

He smiled at her as he said, “Tell me another pretty lie, beautiful. Maybe I’ll believe you.” He chuckled. “What do you think of getting out of here?” 

She arched her eyebrow as she answered with a question of her own. “Have I been pardoned?” 

He laughed again as he reached for her hand. “That completely depends on you, beautiful.” 

She warily took his hand and let him lead her out of the cell to the chest that held her gear. Opening it, he pulled out her clothing and boots and handed them to her; he had  
been told those were the only things that she was permitted to have at this time. “Let’s go for a walk, beautiful.” 

#

Ulfric sat on his throne, his chin resting on his hand as he listened to his steward as he gave the jarl the day’s reports concerning the city. Another girl had been murdered by a person the guards had taken to calling ‘The Butcher’. The jarl believed that it was one of the dark elves that had lived in the Gray Quarter where all the dark elves in Windhelm resided, a refuge of theirs from the days of when the Red Mountain had erupted. There were always reports coming from the guards who patrolled that area of Windhelm about assaults of every kind, of robberies and every sort of crime. He did not trust elves. He never had and he never would. 

“Sir,” Jorleif was saying, “there continues to be unrest in the Gray Quarter.” 

He glared at his steward. “Fucking dark elves. I don’t suppose you could tell them that I presently have much larger concerns? Such as all of Skyrim?” 

The older man frowned, saying, “They don’t seem to be very sympathetic to our cause, sir.” 

Ulfric grumbled. “Of course they’re not sympathetic to our cause. They’re elves; elves stick together.” He made a waving motion with his hand as he continued, “Talk to Free-Winter, have him talk to the elves. He treats the Gray Quarter like his little pet project; let him settle their problems.” 

“Yes, my Lord,” Jorleif responded. 

The jarl started to say something else when he saw Ralof and Meliandra enter the Great Hall from the passage leading to the jail. He watched as they walked to the entrance of the palace, his attention on the young Breton. She had an intriguing aura about her; it was one he had noticed in Helgen and one that held his attention even more so now.  
There was a confidence about her that shone brightly and he wanted it on his side. 

He noticed Galmar standing to the side and turned to him; he saw the look in his second-in-command’s eyes, a look of uncertainty. “Yes, Galmar? Something on your mind?” 

“Something about that girl I just don’t trust.” 

Ulfric shrugged as he said, “It’s your job not to trust her. It’s my job to make her trust us.” 

# 

Ralof and Meliandra sat at a table in the darkened corner of Candlehearth Hall, a soft glow upon them. Because she was on prisoner rations, he had taken the Breton to the inn for a warm meal. They had dined on venison steaks with baked potatoes, drowning the meal in pitchers of ale while they talked about nonconsequential subjects passing the time. Meliandra caught sight of Vorstag and Lydia as they walked in trying to avoid eye contact with each other, but signaled that she was alright. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Ralof said with a smile. 

“And where do you plan on taking me? Back to my jail cell?” 

“I’d rather not,” he replied, stroking her cheek. “I’d rather like to be able to give you the rest of your gear and tell you that you’re a free woman.” 

“So do it,” she said in a whisper. “Let me go and I will never step foot in Windhelm again.” 

He laughed softly. “Another pretty lie, beautiful?” He stood up, taking her hand as he did so. “Let’s go. I have some things to discuss with you in private.” 

She sighed as she followed the soldier out the door of the inn. The night sky was clear, the brightness of the moon illuminating their path. There was a sharp, cold bite to the air here; it was very invigorating to her. He led her toward the Temple of Talos, turning at the graveyard. He held her hand in his as they walked slowly past the headstones. 

“Did you know that the last person who tried to steal from Ulfric was executed?”

She looked at him, her eyes slightly widened. “He had them killed?” 

Ralof nodded. “Yes. He would have already had you under the headsman’s axe.” He stopped and turned her to face him, a smile hiding behind his lips but touching his eyes, “but you’ve piqued his curiosity, intrigued him.” 

“I have, have I?” She arched her eyebrow, her voice taking a hard edge to it. “So, what, am I to be kept here in Windhelm to tickle his fancy, whatever that might be?” 

“I don’t know what his plans are for you, beautiful,” he answered as he began to walk again, heading toward Valunstrad, the area of the city that held the most majestic of houses owned by some of the most prestigious of Windhelm citizens. 

“Then what is all this, Ralof?” she asked. “What is the meaning behind tonight?” 

“Ulfric asked me to talk to you,” he answered flatly. “He wants me to convince you to talk to him.” 

She snorted. “Talk to him about what, Ralof? Why I was stealing his shit? Give me a break. I’m a thief; it’s what I do.” 

“Honestly, Meliandra, I don’t know. He asked me to convince you to talk to him and that’s what I’ve set out to do.” 

Ahead of them he saw a patrolling guard turning the corner past Viola Giordano’s place. The city was quiet this evening, most people were staying indoors because of the recent murders against the women of the city. Most of the windows in the houses were darkened save for the gentle flickering of hearth fires. “Tell me something, beautiful,” he said as they approached the Shatter-Shield estate. “Why didn’t you come to Windhelm when you said you would?” 

“I was on my way and got held up by thing in Riften,” she said without hesitation. 

“Riften?” he repeated. “Well, that explains the thievery part of your visit now, doesn’t it?” He saw her turn to him from the corner of his eye. “You fell in with the Thieves Guild, didn’t you?” At her silence, he stopped and turned her to him, continuing, “Now what is so appealing about the Thieves Guild that it would keep you away from me?” 

She smiled sweetly at him. “Gold.” She chuckled. “Gold is what kept me in Riften.” She shrugged. “I’ve made a good amount of it too, more than I would ever get fighting in this damn war.” 

“Gold?” he asked, pulling her close to him. “Is that all? Are you sure someone didn’t steal the thought of me from your memory?” He leaned down, lightly kissing her lips. 

“You have me at an impasse, soldier,” she answered in a seductive tone. “I cannot confirm nor deny what you accuse me of. Perhaps I can make amends with you somehow?” She tilted her head to the side, a suggestive look in her eyes. 

His eyes smiled as he wrapped his arms around her tighter, pulling her closer to his body. “What kind of amends are you talking about? You have left me here waiting for a very long time.” He leaned in and kissed her again, this time a little more forceful. He felt her hands find their way beneath his tunic and run up his back; his own hands cupped her rear, squeezing the cheeks firmly as his tongue forced its way into her mouth. 

His erection throbbed against the confines of his pants as the desire built up within him. His breath was coming fast and hard as he broke the kiss, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. “What do you say we get out of view of everyone, beautiful?” 

“Not feeling as adventurous as you did in Riverwood?” she breathed back at him, her hands fidgeting with the belt on his pants. 

“I’ll show you adventurous,” he growled with lust as he picked her up and carried her around the fence and to the back of the property, hidden between the two houses in the darkness, the moons’ light not reaching this far back in the shadows. He set her down and began to kiss her again, his hands working their way beneath her clothing. 

She gasped as his fingers penetrated her; he smiled watching her lick her lips with her eyes half-closed as he stroked her insides, his thumb rubbing the nub of her desire. Soon she was panting as she rubbed herself on his hand, soft moans escaping from her lips. “Doesn’t take much to turn you on, does it, beautiful?” She looked at him and smiled. 

“You want me to fuck you now, don’t you?” She nodded; he undid his pants, letting them fall to his ankles. He kissed her again before telling her, “Give me some attention first.”  
She obediently got on her knees and took his thick member in her mouth, eliciting murmurs of pleasure from the blond Nord. He ran his hands through her hair as he watched her plump lips slide back and forth on his cock, sucking on him adeptly. “That’s a good girl,” he murmured as he rocked his hips back and forth. His moaning increased as the build up to his climax grew; he knew if she kept this up, he was going to cum too soon. He pulled her head away as he said, “Get up and turn around.” 

Without hesitation, she obeyed him again. He moved her clothing out of the way, rubbing her ass hard as he did so. He stood behind her, wrapping his hand around her throat as his lips brushed against her ear. “You want to feel my cock inside you again, beautiful?” 

“Yes,” she breathed huskily. 

He kissed her neck before taking a step back; placing his hand on the middle of her back, he guided her into a position that had her leaning against the wall, her hands placed firmly on the ledge of the house before her. He slammed his hard on deep inside of her, causing a yelp to escape her lips before she began to moan in pleasure. 

Back and forth he thrust himself in her; her vaginal lips caressing the thickness of his phallic member, the friction making her pussy drip heavy with her excitement. A frenzy set in upon him as his lust raced headlong to the climax of their sex. He felt her body begin to quake as her climax spasmed throughout her, knees going weak beneath her. While her orgasm left her in a weakened state, it triggered Ralof’s own release. He grabbed her hips as he slammed his dick in her with a powerful thrust, his seed exploding into her womb. 

He stood there a moment as the last of his semen pumped out of his dick. He slapped her ass, leaving a red mark on the cheek, pulling out as he did so. As he pulled his pants up and began adjusting his belt he spoke to her. “I really hope you listen to Ulfric, beautiful. I really want to enjoy that pussy more often.”


	35. Manipulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulfric tries to get answers from Meliandra. Meliandra receives a job to do from Ulfric.

The doors opened, a gust of snow-filled wind blew into the corridor as the jarl walked through, his thick, black fur cloak billowing behind him. His face, as always, was unreadable as he made his way to his rooms, paying little mind to those he passed along the way. He had decided to take a walk to clear his mind and had made his way to the training yard and watched some of his men sparring for a while before making his way to the Temple of Talos where he had spent time contemplating the war. Restlessness had set in and soon he had found himself walking the streets of his city until the wind turned harsh and he made his way back to the Palace. 

His mind was weighed down with thoughts of the war, the sellswords he sent to Castle Dour to extract and extradite the traitor Appius that kept failing to successfully infiltrate the Legion’s Skyrim base, and now his thoughts included the thieving Breton, specifically, how did she manage to get into his personal armory. He kept thinking that if she had been able to get that far into the Palace and into one of the most secured wings of the castle, perhaps she would be able to do what the sellswords had failed to do. 

He walked into his quarters, removing his cloak as he did so and draping across the back of a chair, then proceeded to pour himself a goblet of mead before walking across the room to a window to gaze out across his city. A dusting of snow rested upon the tops of the stone walls and some of the rooftops, smoke puffed out of chimneys while ice wolves howled in the distance beyond the city walls. He took a drink off his goblet, the mead warming his chilled body as his thoughts went to the days of his early youth when all was carefree and he ran throughout this city playing with his friends. His world had completely changed when he was barely six winters old when he was sent to study with the Greybeards at High Hrothgar. He had left a boy and returned as an orphaned young man, his heart cold and hard by his experiences. 

A knock at his door drew his attention; the hour was late but he had been expecting this knock. He set the goblet down then went and opened the door, revealing a young guard, a slight look of fear in his young eyes. Ulfric tried to remember the boy’s name but it kept eluding him. “Can I help you?” he asked the young man. 

“Sir.” The guard saluted then continued. “Ralof is asking to speak with you. He says that you will know what it’s about?” 

He nodded. “Is he alone?” 

The guard shook his head. “No, sir. There is a woman with him.” 

“A Breton?” 

He nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

The jarl smiled. “Very good. I’ll speak to them in my study.” 

“Yes, sir,” the guard answered as he saluted again before turning to leave. 

Ulfric left the door ajar as he went into his study off the side of his bedroom and waited. It wasn’t long before Ralof and Meliandra entered the room. He glanced at the Breton, noting the way she held herself, confident but cautious, before turning his attention to his officer. His strong voice rumbling in the room as he spoke, demanding their full attention. “I trust this means there is cooperation?” 

“Yes, Jarl Ulfric,” Ralof answered, looking back at his companion, a slight smile on his lips. “Meliandra has agreed to speak with you.” 

Ulfric gave her his full attention. “Good. I have a lot of questions; there might be a… offer of sorts as well, one that you should give serious thought to when giving me an answer. Is that understood?” 

“Understood,” she responded, a slight smile on her own face. 

He saw the glint in her eye; it made him slightly uneasy. Looking back at Ralof, he dismissed the man then waited until he was alone with the thief. He walked to his desk, pulled the chair out and sat down. Indicating the chair opposite to his desk, he stated flatly, “Have a seat.” 

He watched as she walked to the chair, trying to read her. She looked at him as she sat down, her amber eyes meeting his, the glint still there as she smiled at him, like a cat toying with her prey. But he was no prey. He gestured to the jug of mead on his desk. “Care for a drink?” He didn’t wait for a response, rather he reached for a tankard and picking up the jug, began pouring her one. “Did you enjoy your breath of freedom tonight?” he asked smiling. 

“It was a lot more enjoyable than having to deal with that miserable excuse for a former guard in the cell next to me. It could have been better if you’d have just let me go.” She accepted the offered libation and took a drink, staring at the jarl all the while. 

“I’m sure you understand why that’s impossible.” He poured himself a tankard as well, returning her gaze as he did so. “You see, I don’t know if you’re working for one of my enemies, perhaps inadvertently or maybe knowingly. Either way, you managed to do something no one has ever done before and I want to know how you did so and who are you working for?” 

She held the tankard by the rim, a long, graceful finger tracing the edge as she sat back, the look in her eyes boring into his. “You have nothing to fear, Jarl Ulfric. I am not working for anyone but myself.” 

While he heard the note of truthfulness to her voice, her suddenly darkened yes caused him concern. This time it was him whose eyes bore down on hers as he sat forward and crossed his arms in front of him as he rested them on his desk before him. The smile on his face was not warm as he said, “I don’t believe you. I can always return you to that jail cell until you decide to tell me the truth.” 

A sneer flashed on her face for a moment, then she sighed heavily and drank more of her mead before answering him. Her voice took on an edge, one of authority as she said, “Fine. I work with the Thieves Guild. I was given a task to make sure our presence here in your Hold was known. Against the advice of my superiors, I decided that stealing something for you would be enough of a message that the Guild is still very much alive and well.”

His eyebrows arched again, this time higher. “The Thieves Guild?” He leaned in further. “Am I to believe that this is just some random theft and not some covert operation on the part of Tullius and the Empire?” He shook his head, a false laughter coming from his lips as he looked at her again, more sternly then before. “I find that hard to believe, Meliandra.” 

Her eyes blazed hotly as she snapped. “Tullius?!” She slammed the tankard onto his desk. “There’s not enough gold in all of Skyrim that could ever convince me to do any kind of job for that piece of shit or the Empire!” 

He smiled as he sat back in his chair. “Care to prove it to me?” 

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him, studying him. “What?” 

“I asked you if you would like to prove to me that you do not work for the Empire?” He steepled his fingers before him, his smile still lingering on his lips as he said in measured breaths, “It’s very simple, Meliandra. You prove to me that you are not an agent of the Empire and I’ll permit you to continue to live.” 

She took a deep breath. “And how do you propose that I prove that?” 

“I want you to go to Castle Dour in Solitude. You will bring me back the double-crossing turncoat Appius Fridthjof. Simple as that.” 

# 

She opened the door and walked into the rented room to find Vorstag snoring on his bed roll while Lydia sat at the table in their room. Lydia’s head turned quickly to see who was entering their room. “My Thane!” the housecarl cried out, stirring their companion on the floor. 

“Lydia, stop with that damn thane title shit, would you?” She nudged the sleeping man on the floor with her foot. “Wake up, Vorstag. We’ve got to head out of here and soon.” 

“Mel?” he answered groggily. “What’s going on?” 

“I’m in between a rock and a hard place, that’s what’s going on. Now get up and let’s get out of here.” She began collecting her belongings as she told them about her conversation with Ulfric and the ultimatum he had issued her, explaining to them that in order for her to leave Windhelm alive was to agree to do a job for the jarl. 

“So he’s blackmailing you?” Vorstag snapped. 

“Look,” she said, “I do this job, he lets me walk out of here.” 

“He wants you to sneak into Castle Dour and extract an Imperial spy!” Lydia cried out. “It’s a suicide mission! I cannot let you do this!” 

Meliandra spun on her heel and advanced on her housecarl. “I don’t need your permission to do anything. This is the only way to prove that I am not a spy. His own spies will be watching for me and will be reporting back to him. If I do not do this, I will be hunted down and executed.” 

The room was silent save for the sound of Meliandra’s packing as her statement settled in before her companions began to quickly pack their belongings. A few minutes later they exited the room and headed out of the inn. They walked in silence as they made their way to the city gates. 

A cold breeze greeted them as they descended the steps to the bridge that spanned across the water that separated the old city from the mainland. Meliandra pulled her fur cloak closer to her body and looked away as the snowflakes landed on her cheeks. She saw the carriage waiting beyond the stables and indicated to her companions they’d be taking it. She told them to get in the back as she headed to the carriage driver. 

“Where ya headed?” he asked. 

“Passage to Riften with extra coin if you pick no one else.” 

He nodded. “Hop in back.” 

As the carriage set out, Vorstag looked at her, questioningly. “Riften? Why not immediately to Solitude?” 

She smiled. “Because despite being caught, I still finished what I was sent to do. The guards might have recovered the items I stole from the armory, but I was still able to get out of the palace with this.” She opened a bag to reveal a large signet ring embossed with the crest of Ulfric Stormcloak.


	36. The Rat in The Cage

He sat at the table in the room they had him secreted away in. He had but few visitors and those were far and few in between. He had been lured to the Legion with promises of fame and glory but so far all he had received was this room and isolation. Secrets whispered in his ears via hidden messages delivered in coded letters gave him little solace as each day passed. A promise of a visit was included in the latest of messages and this made him anxious with joyful hope. Perhaps this visit will bring news that will see him a free man once more.


	37. When Tempers Flare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon finding out about Meliandra's arrest, Brynjolf plans to rescue her. Despite his joy at finding out she was released, both of their tempers flare and fireworks ensue.

Brynjolf reviewed the weeks reports of how much gold they had added to the coffers as well as how many job requests they had gotten in. Slowly their presence was being felt again, but not enough. The war was taking a toll on everyone, jobs were scarce and the need for their services weren’t as in much demand as the demand for mercenaries were. He picked up the stack of messages from his operatives and began reading through them. He was pleased to see that some of them who had stepped away from the Guild were now willing to work with them again; it seems that many of the operatives had been taken advantage of by Mercer and tried to distance themselves from him. 

After some time, he sat back in the chair, his gaze resting on the bed that at one time Meliandra would sleep in. His thoughts went to the last time she was here and how what had started out as steps forward in fixing their relationship ended up blowing up before his eyes. He had obviously misread her jovial mood that day that had made him believe that she was ready to talk and when he went to apologize again in the morning he had discovered that she had left sometime during the night. 

He was beginning to understand now more than ever what it meant to not know what you’ve got until its gone. The feelings he felt for her were so intense and her absence from his life created such a void the likes of which he had never experienced in his life before. He thought of the conversation he had had with Vekel the other day and how the bartender smiled at him, a look of knowing touching his eyes as he shook his head telling the second in charge that he had fallen in love with the Breton. He knew the man was right. But had he lost his one opportunity to be truly happy? 

He noticed the courier making his way from the Flagon entrance toward him. He recognized the boy as one employed by Niranye in Windhelm to ferret sensitive messages to the Guild and immediately became concerned. He sat up as the boy approached him; an icy finger of fear traced down his spine for a reason unknown to him. “Gaelock,” he said as the young Altmer came closer. “Everything alright? We usually don’t see you around here.” 

 

The boy shook his head as he reached into his satchel and pulled out the sealed message from his employer. “Niranye says this is urgent and for your eyes only.”  
Brynjolf’s eyebrow rose as he accepted the letter. He opened it and began to read, sitting straighter in his chair as he did so. He let the paper fall to the desk once he finished and ran his hand through his hair. “Shor’s Balls,” he swore. He reached into the jar to the side, took out some gold and handed it to the young man. “Tell Niranye thank you. And make sure some of that gets to her, too.” 

Gaelock nodded and smiled, “Of course.” Then he turned and headed back into the Flagon. 

“Shit,” Brynjolf swore under his breath, his thoughts returning to the message from the Altmer thief. Meliandra had been seen getting arrested by Windhelm guards led by the jarl’s right-hand man. He had remembered Delvin saying that a job had come in for Windhelm to be hit. He immediately knew that it was Meli who took the job. The Guild’s policy was to leave a captured thief be when and if one got caught. But he would be damned if he was going to leave the Guild Master locked up and he began to form a rescue plan using Cynric’s jailbreaking skills. 

# 

She took a deep breath as she stepped into the Bee & Barb, the familiar aroma of fish cooking in the kitchen with a hint of saltiness in the air wafting through her nostrils, eliciting a slight rumble of hunger from her stomach. She approached the bar where the Argonian innkeeper was busy serving the Snow-Shod son. She noticed that Sapphire wasn’t in her usual spot near the door, scouting for possible marks so she could lighten their pockets. She stood at the bar and cleared her throat, bringing the woman’s attention to her. 

“Oh,” the Argonian said sourly, “it’s you. Here to extort more gold from me?” 

Meliandra narrowed her eyes as she responded, “Don’t tempt me, Keevara. The Guild’s under new rules, new management. I’m sure the new Guild Master would be more than willing to add some new fees to your monthly contribution to the betterment of our fair city.” 

The Argonian snorted. “New management? Who would be psychotic enough to want to be the boss of your motley crew of thieves?” 

The Breton leaned onto the counter and smiled at her. “Me. Now, shall we continue?” 

The inn-keeper swallowed nervously before shaking her head. “I was just joking, Meliandra. What can I do for you?” 

The Guild Master set a stack of gold on the counter. “A room with privacy and absolutely no disturbances.” 

The Argonian slid the coins off the counter quickly, her claws slightly scratching the wood. She nodded, saying, “Of course. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room.” 

The trio followed her upstairs and into a room far off to the back. Once they were alone amongst themselves, they began to settle in for the day. Vorstag and Lydia were going to be going to the market and sell what junk they had while replenishing their supplies and have Balimund make any repairs needed to their armor and weapons. In the meantime, Meliandra would be going down to handle business with the Thieves Guild. 

The sun was beginning its descent past the horizon by the time Meliandra emerged from the inn. She saw Modesi at his stall, just starting to close up shop for the night. She walked over to him, delivering the chunk of gold ore he was looking for for an authentic Saxhleel piece of jewelry he was making. After paying her generously for her help, she made her way to the Riften graveyard. She absently noted the Shrine of Talos and thought about the stories of Tiber Septim she had read as a teen. Once again, she remembered the feeling of the dragon soul coming over her, laying claim to her. She could not fathom that she of all people could possibly be Dragonborn. She shook her head as she opened the entrance to the Guild. 

# 

She entered the Cistern to see Delvin, Sapphire, Cynric, Vex and Brynjolf huddled around the desk, talking quietly amongst themselves. She couldn’t make out what they were talking about but it seemed urgent. The closer she got, the more visible Brynjolf’s face was and she could see concern written all over it. 

Vex looked up and upon seeing her, smiled. She nudged Brynjolf and pointed out the Guild Master to him. His eyes went from irritated to surprise to happy as he got up from his chair and walked toward her. He caught himself before drawing her into a hug. “Meli,” he said, relief riding on his voice. “We heard you’d been arrested.” 

“I was,” she answered back. She placed the stolen signet ring in front of Delvin. “But I had a job to do.” 

Delvin picked up the ring, letting out a whistle. “Well, look at this little beauty,” he said in admiration. “This is Ulfric’s?” 

The Breton smirked. “It is indeed.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “You said something that would make them know it was us. I think that fits the bill.” 

Delvin smiled broadly, chuckling. “Good work, boss. I’ll get you your coin by the end of the night.” 

“No rush, Delvin.” She took her seat and began to inquire as to the state of the Guild. For the next couple hours, she listened to what her people reported to her and how the Guild was slowly regaining their foothold. She listened intently and watched carefully at everyone’s interactions, how smoothly they all worked together. Slowly, one by one, they left to retire for the night leaving only her and Brynjolf. 

She stood, yawning. “I need to get some sleep; it’s been a long couple of days.” 

Brynjolf stood, nodding. “I’ll walk with you to your room.” 

She sighed but nodded back at him. “Things seem to be looking up,” she said casually as they made their way out of the Cistern. 

He nodded. “Everyone saw the sacrifice that you made to expose Mercer. They have a new outlook on their jobs. You’ve made them strive to be better, lass.” 

A sad laugh came from her. “I hate to break it to you, Bryn, but I had ulterior motives for wanting to kill Mercer, let alone bring him down.” 

He looked over at her; the whisper of sorrow in her voice shouted at him. She walked into the room that the Guild had decided to make quarters strictly for the Guild Master and turned to face him. “What I shared with Mercer was strictly a satisfaction of our mutual carnal desires, nothing more.” She sighed. “I had no illusions about any kind of meaningful relationship with him.” She shifted her eyes slightly away from him. “The last time I thought I had one of those I ended up being hurt.” 

Brynjolf felt the verbal slap and closed his eyes, knowing she meant him. He opened his eyes again and looked at her, his eyes soft as he gazed at her. “Lass, I’m sorry. I really  
am. I don’t know how I can make it up to you.” 

She shook her head. “You know, Bryn, right now I don’t even want to think about any of that, alright? I’ve got a lot more on my plate than dealing with you and I.” She ran her hand through her ebony hair, sighing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.” 

“Is there anything I can do to help you? Or the Guild?” 

She shook her head. Her voice was flat as she answered, “No, I need to handle this myself, Bryn.” 

“Meli, we can help you- “

“Damn it, Bryn!” she snapped. “I don’t want nor need your damn help! Why must you patronize me, acting like you care about me?” 

“Acting like I care?” he snapped back. “Are you fucking serious, Meliandra?” He shook his head. “Here I’ve been worried about you ever since I received word that you had been arrested, but no, I don’t fucking care about you!” 

“Worried?” she repeated sarcastically. “That’s not what it looked like to me when I walked in. In fact, you and Vex looked rather cozy sitting next to each other. Hell, she even  
smiled at me, like she was gloating that she drove us apart.” 

“Oh for fucks sake!” he cried out in exasperation. “What in Oblivion do you fucking think we were doing when you walked in? Having a tea party?” He stared at her, his anger quickly rising. “Shor’s Balls, Meli. We were planning on how to break you out of jail!” He turned to walk out, stopped, turned and walked back to her. His eyes burned hot with anger, the words, acid upon his tongue. “Just how did you manage to get out of there with the jarl’s signet ring? Wait, don’t tell me.” His eyes narrowed as he spat his next words out. “You fucked Ulfric for your freedom.” 

Her eyes went wide, mirroring the anger that raged in his. She brought her hand across his face, hard. “How dare you!” She raised her hand, posed to strike him again. 

He caught her hand mere inches from his face. “How dare I?” He snarled at her. “You’re no better than a whore, Meliandra. You’ll spread your legs for anyone if it benefits you.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with that when you were fucking me,” she snapped as she pulled her hand out of his grip. “What’s wrong, Bryn? Vex not giving it up anymore?” 

Suddenly, with no warning, he grabbed her and pulled her to him, crushing his lips with hers, his tongue forced its way into her mouth and demanded ownership of it. His grip around her was strong, holding her in his arms firmly as he gave into the overwhelming need to feel her in his arms, to kiss her with abandon like he had once done. Breaking the kiss, he breathed heavily, “I don’t want Vex. I want you.” 

“You lost that chance, Brynjolf.” She noticed that her voice was not as strong and forceful as she had intended it to be, but rather it was weak as she tried to reclaim the breath that he had just taken from her. 

“I don’t think I did, lass,” he said as he kissed her again. 

She tried to pull back, her hands finding their way to his chest, pushing at him as his kiss consumed her. She tried to fight, not him, but her own desire to give in to his very touch. Despite herself she found that she was returning his kiss with as much fervor and determination that he was giving. Her hands went from pushing on him to frantically loosening his tunic and running her fingers down his bare skin, leaving red marks where her nails pressed into him. “You’re a lying cheat,” she breathed at one point, kissing him again as his fingers worked the ties free on her clothing and quickly removed them from her body. 

“And you’re a slut,” be breathed against her skin, his lips tracing their way down her neck and onto her shoulder. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She tilted her head back, her hands finding their way through his hair, guiding him to her now naked breasts. She gasped in pleasure as he took her breast in his mouth, his tongue flicking across her nipple before he did the same to the other. 

“You are a bad girl that does bad things, Meliandra.” His voice grew heavy with lust as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to her bed. He laid her upon it, then, keeping to his knees, he climbed upon the bed, staying at the foot of it. He stared at her before him as he removed his pants, his erection hard and throbbing. “Did you enjoy fucking the Battle-Born son?” he asked as he slipped two fingers into her and began playing with her. “What about that barmaid? Did you enjoy having a woman do this to you?” His fingers thrust faster and harder in her; his excitement was building. 

“Yes,” she panted, “I liked her fucking me.” 

“What about the Battle-Born kid?” he fingered her faster still; she was dripping wet now. “Did you like fucking him?” 

She looked at him. “No,” she admitted. “I didn’t. I hated it.” She moaned and writhed against his hand then looked back at him. “Please fuck me, Brynjolf, just fuck me.” 

He smiled as he withdrew his fingers and positioned himself above her. He stared at her as he asked, “Fuck you? You really want me to fuck you?” She nodded emphatically. He stared at her for a moment longer then leaned forward, resting the tip of his shaft against her slit. “This is what you want?” 

“Yes!” she cried out. “Please!” 

He gave a hard thrust, slamming his entire length into her, causing her to cry out. His thrusts were frantic; she clawed at his chest, drawing blood. He was losing his control; she was crying out her quickly impending orgasm. He thrust again, harder; her juices flowed as if a dam had burst forth, sending her body into spasms as she climaxed. 

Brynjolf felt the flooding from her pooling around him and soon his own body went rigid as his cum exploded into her womb, filing her with his seed. He collapsed next to her; his breathing accelerated but starting to return to normal. 

She laid beside him, his arm wrapped around her and she remembered how secure that had always made her. She closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the moment. 

Brynjolf held her, tracing her skin with his fingers. He had not realized how much he missed the feel of her body against his, how they seemed to fit together perfectly. He did not want this moment to end for in the here and now his world was perfect. He had his Breton in his arms again. That’s the only thing that mattered to him. 

As he kissed the top of her head he whispered, “I love you, Meli.”


	38. Recoil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra deals with Brynjolf's declaration of love.

Ulfric sat at his desk in his quarters, lost in thought. He knew he was taking a risk with the Breton thief. He realized quickly that she was by far not the naïve victim he had assumed she was when he saw her at Helgen nearly a year ago. Instead, he found her to be difficult, headstrong, overly self-confident, dangerous. Yet at the same time he found her confidence intriguing, her stubbornness he saw as determination, and the danger that she possessed was alluring to him. He sensed something about her that was raw and powerful, and he knew that she could be molded to do his bidding, but only if done right. And he still had to establish if he could even trust the thief. 

He sent a spy of his own to shadow her, to see if she would do his bidding of if she would tuck tail and run away, hoping to never cross the jarl’s path again. The spy had orders to eliminate her if she failed to go to Castle Dour. He had no time for people who could not keep their word, even less for thieves. The Breton was lucky he had even given her the opportunity to redeem herself. He honestly hoped that she would not throw that gift away. 

# 

“I love you, Meli.” 

Hours later those four words echoed in her mind. 

She had been drifting to sleep when Brynjolf’s words had made their way to her ears but had found herself suddenly wide awake. She laid there frozen, stuck in the moment. 

She had listened to him as he fell asleep, his rhythmic breathing accompanied by the occasional snore, his arm still draped across her waist. His words circled around her mind continuously, as if they were caught in an emotional whirlpool. A tear escaped her eyelid and spilled down her cheek as the conflicting emotions churned through her. 

She finally got out of the bed, quietly dressed and slipped out the door without disturbing the sleeping Nord. The Cistern was quiet save for the sounds of members sleeping as she made her way to the entrance. 

She needed to think about things. She had been ignoring all the feelings she had been experiencing except for the hurt and anger. She didn’t want to acknowledge that the mere sight of Brynjolf made her heart skip a beat or that every time she was close to him she swooned at his voice. She wanted to remember that he had betrayed her trust but her heart kept reminding her of how he had stolen her love. And now to add to her turmoil, she was dealing with him successfully breaking down that wall she had erected around her as well as his admittance of love. Her world was changing faster day by day and she could feel herself slipping further and further into her anger. 

She stepped out into the graveyard, intent on spending some time in meditation in the Temple of Mara. Instead she turned directly into the oncoming path of Vex. They stared at each other a moment, neither one looking happy to see the other. Meliandra moved to walk around her when Vex broke the silence. 

“Running off, are we?” 

Meliandra turned and faced her. “Who says I’m running off? Or is that just what you’re hoping that I’ll do?” 

“My concern is Brynjolf,” Vex replied flatly. 

“Of course it is, Vex. That’s why you were a thorn in my side before and I completely believe you will always be a thorn in my side. It doesn’t matter if I’m the Guild Master or not. You do not like me. You never have and never will.” 

The blonde tilted her head to the side. “I don’t know what Brynjolf sees in you, but he sees it,” she said crossly. “And because he feels the way he does for you, I’ll just have to put my own feelings about you aside.” 

“Your feelings about me?” Meliandra repeated. She emphasized her words as she spoke harshly, “What about your feelings about Brynjolf? Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to reciprocate your feelings?” 

“I am very aware of what feelings he has for me and yes, I am very aware that they are not of the romantic kind in nature. It’s obvious he has those kinds of feelings for you.” She chuckled. “After last night, I think the entire Guild sees who has his undivided attention.” 

“And that must drive you mad with jealousy, doesn’t it, Vex?” 

The older thief shook her head. “You don’t have an inkling of a clue as to what my relationship with Brynjolf is and nothing you say or do will ever change that.” She straightened her back and glared at her. “Go ahead and run away, Meliandra. And don’t try to tell me that you’re not because I can see it written all over your face. Just next time you decide to announce to the entire Guild that you and Brynjolf are fucking, I’d advise you to not go sneaking off in the middle of the night leaving him to wake to find you missing in the morning.” 

Then the blonde thief turned on her heel and walked past her, headed for the secret entrance to the Thieves Guild. 

# 

She bypassed the Temple and walked around Riften, her mood dark. Vex’s words echoed in her ears, taunting her. What irritated her the most was that she knew Vex was right. She had not planned on returning to the bed that Brynjolf slept in now and there was a high probability that she was not going to be returning to the Cistern at all before she left for Solitude. But now, now she knew that she couldn’t. There was no way that she was going to allow Vex to be right about this. 

She just needed to clear her head. 

She made her way up the stairs from the lower level of the fishing town, emerging by the orphanage. He thought about Aventus Aretino in Windhelm and what he had said about the old lady that ran the place. She stood at the door for a moment, thinking about it. She shook her head, thinking that the boy just didn’t want to be in an orphanage and turned to walk away. Then her sensitive ears picked up a youthful sob coming from the fenced in yard. She crept forward and upon finding a foothold, she scaled the wall and watched through the spiked railing. In a darkened corner of the yard sat a young boy trying to treat what appeared to be bloody lacerations on his back. 

After a few moments of watching the boy and reliving abuses she suffered at the hands of her own father, she made her way back down the wall and snuck into the orphanage, shutting the door quietly behind her. She cast a muffle spell and made her way into the orphanage, past the children sleeping in their beds and into a room in the back. 

She looked around the room in horror. There were shackles attached to the walls. There were bloodied belts and whips. She clenched her hands into fists as she made her way into the other back room and saw the old woman asleep in bed. Shutting the door softly, she slinked forward, every movement measured to avoid any sound. She perched herself atop the edge of a chest at the foot of her bed. 

The old woman must have been a light sleeper because her eyes opened and focused on the intruder above her. “You’ve no business here. Get out before I call for the guards!” she spat out, her voice riddled with hate. 

“I’m just here to deliver a message, old woman.” She gave the elderly woman a taunting look as she paused. 

“A message? From whom?” she asked suspiciously. 

“From Aventus Aretino, of course.” 

“Aretino?” she hissed. “That little bastard!” She wagged her finger at the Breton. “You tell him I’m coming to get him! And when I find him, it’ll be the beating of his miserable life!” 

“You won’t be laying a finger on him.” 

“I’m not scared of you, girl.” 

Meliandra smiled icily as she said, “You ought to be.” In the Breton’s hands appeared a pair of swords. “Aventus wishes you a good journey to the Void.” She then flipped the swords around, blades down and drove them deep and hard into the woman’s chest. A scream ripped forth from the woman’s lips as she felt the coldness of the magic blades slam into her body. 

“That… ungrateful… little… bastard…. “ She coughed then her head lolled to the side, her eyes unfocused and empty. 

Suddenly she heard a scream behind her. She spun around to see Constance Michel standing in the doorway, staring at the sight before her. “It’s alright, you’re okay,” Meliandra tried to reassure her but the woman screamed again. 

“Shit,” Meliandra grumbled, knowing that the screams were going to alert the guards outside. She ran out of the room and towards the entrance to the orphanage but suddenly stopped short as a city guard turned the corner and came rushing at her with his sword drawn. She dodged his blow as she ran for the door that led to the yard she had seen the boy crying in earlier, pushing her way through the door. She scrambled her way up the aspen tree and launched herself over the wall only to find more guards rushing toward the orphanage. 

“Fuck me,” she mumbled as she broke into a run and rushed through the city gate, leaving Riften behind her. 

#   
The Nord watched the Breton thief run out the city gate. He held back for a moment before he made his own way out of the city. Using the skills, he had learned as a young boy out hunting with his father, he tracked the thief. He watched as she waited for some time by the standing stone outside the city. After a while he saw her walk down to the road and flag down a passing traveling merchant; she handed him something then he headed toward town. Sometime later the Breton’s two companions appeared on the road and walked directly to the standing stone. After a few moments, the trio set out on the road. 

The spy Ulfric sent out to watch the thief shadowed the group as they headed away from the Rift, eventually finding themselves on a path that would lead them to Solitude and Castle Dour. 

# 

Before his eyes opened, Brynjolf knew something was amiss. 

It was quiet, too quiet for Meliandra to still be in the room with him. He sat up and looked around, finding emptiness around him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then stretched widely, working the tightness out of his aging muscles. As he dressed, he tried to not think the worst of finding Meliandra gone from the room. He refused to allow the thought that she ran away after what had happened between them. He wanted to believe that reconciliation was possible. 

He made his way to the Flagon where he knew that Vekel would have an ample amount of Nordic coffee over the fire. As he walked in he noticed a pause in conversations as members turned to look at him. Recalling that Meliandra had been screaming out last night, he shrugged it off. He sat down at the counter; Vekel placed a mug of hot Nordic coffee in front of him. “What’s the word, Vekel?” 

The bartender shook his head. “Slow morning. Sapphire headed up to the Bee & Barb a little while ago to hear the scuttlebutt around town.” 

The Nord nodded, turned and scanned the room. 

“She’s not here,” came Vex’s voice from his side. 

He glanced to his right to see the blonde emerging from the shadows. “Didn’t see you over there, Vex. And… what are you talking about?” 

She stood next to him. “Meliandra. I saw her leaving in the middle of the night.” 

He nodded, solemnly. “Do you know where she went?” 

Vex shook her head. “No, sorry.” She hesitated then continued. “Look, I know I’m to blame for this. There’s got to be some way- “ 

“I don’t want to hear it, Vex,” he said flatly. He looked at her, his eyes narrowed. He ran his hand over his chin, frustrated. “This time it’s on me.” He set his mug down and walked out, thinking himself a fool for admitting his love to the Breton.


	39. An Unexpected Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rikke reflects on the past before receiving an unexpected visitor.

The Legate stared at the general in frustration. It was bad enough that the Legion had sent an Imperial to Skyrim to deal with Ulfric’s uprising, but to send a man so callous, so apathetic as this aging general was adding insult to injury to those who had called Skyrim home. He knew nothing of the Nords ways and walked all over their beliefs. She saw quickly that he had underestimated the situation here, with him thinking that those loyal to Ulfric were slow in mind and acted without thought. He had quickly realized his mistake at Darkwater Crossing when his carefully planned ambush did not go as smoothly as he had anticipated. Both sides had suffered heavy casualties and despite the Legion had outnumbered the rebels three to one, the insurgents fought as if they had held the advantage. Tullius had seen the power of Ulfric’s Thu’um firsthand that day as the jarl Shouted a group of Legion soldiers across the field. It was only Ulfric’s surprising surrender that had prevented a massacre. The blasted war would be over now if that damn dragon had not shown up at that very moment. 

“And what about that traitor of yours?” the general grumbled. “He’s hardly given us any meaningful information in nearly a year’s time! Why am I wasting the Empire’s time and gold housing and feeding this man if he’s got nothing to give in return?”

Rikke forced herself to remain calm. “Sir, Appius has promised me that he will have more pertinent information come the morning.” 

“That skeever hasn’t given us any information of any value since Darkwater Crossing! He better have something tomorrow or he’ll be moved from his sanctuary here in Castle Dour down to the cells!” 

Rikke nodded as she watched the man storm out of the room. Alone in the room, she shook her head. She stared at the map before her, the multitude of flags marking territory held becoming a blur in her vision as memories of a time long past floated to the consciousness of her mind. War does funny things to a person; it changes people, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse. Some people could go back to their lives with seemingly no effect at all, while for others they were never the same again.   
War had molded her into the officer she was how, but the war they fought today was not the same as the war that had made her. The war of yesteryear bore the seeds of the war they found themselves in now, the seeds flourishing by the constant deluge of xenophobia from those resentful of the Aldmeri Dominion. 

Sighing she made her way out of the war room and toward her own quarters. Long gone were the days of her youth when she fought alongside the men she now called her enemies, back when she trusted them with her life rather than knowing they’d strike her down dead as quickly as she would them. She recalled the camaraderie she had felt with the future jarl and his best friend, the bonds that they had formed, and she remembered with clarity and pain the dissolution of those ties. 

She had seen Ulfric slowly changing as the war had progressed, his soul hardening as each battle was fought and as more of his brothers and sisters fell to the magic of the elves. His transformation into the iron-fisted ruler was complete when he escaped his imprisonment at the hands of the Thalmor. Gone was any semblance to the playboy son of the jarl of Windhelm, gone was any hope of a peace between the Nords and the elves. He was as cold as the frozen stone bricks that his city was built with, the blood that ran through his veins, ice cold as the waters that edged the city. 

But Galmar, she had not seen his transformation into who he was now. She had been too close to him to see it. She had believed, foolishly, that her bedding him nightly was endearing him to her, that the words of love he had uttered to her all those lust filled nights were from his heart instead of his loins. Her realization that his loyalty was to his friend and not the Empire was only one of many into who the man she had given her virtue to really was. She had been able to salvage her career before Galmar and Ulfric’s actions had destroyed it and she swore from that point on that she would never let anyone close like that again. 

Now, after all these years, she had to face her former friend and her former lover. She dared not tell the general of her past with them; she wanted nothing more than to see the men in irons and made to pay for their crimes against the Empire but she wanted to leave that page of her past exactly where it was, in the past. 

She entered her quarters; she began to unclasp her armor and remove it. The fire in her quarters had been built up, making it warm on this particularly cold night. An evening meal sat upon her table in the next room, a full jug of wine within reach; her stomach rumbled at the sight as she remembered that she had barely eaten this day. She set her armor on a chair, removed her boots and left them by the chair then walked toward the table, intent on feeding her exhausted body. 

She crossed the threshold of the room. From the corner of her eye she saw the closed fist coming at her right before she felt the impact against her jaw. She stumbled back a step, touched her lips with her fingertips and gazed at her bloody fingers. She lifted her eyes at her assailant and smiled. 

# 

The Orc leered at the woman before him, the sight of her bloodied lip exciting him. “Bitch,” he snarled as he backhanded her. “You sent me to a fucking shithole!” 

Rikke smiled at him even broader, licking the blood from her lip. “So what if I did?” 

“You just wanted to anger me, didn’t you, bitch?” 

“Why send my best men when I can send in a barbarian like you?” she sneered. “What does it matter to you? You’re paid well for what you do, Orc.” 

He grabbed ahold of her hair, twisting it hard in his grip as he pulled her to him. “Is that what you call it? I do your dirty work and you throw me some gold and tease me with that ass of yours?” At her licking her lips, he smiled. “You just want my Orc cock in you, don’t you, slut?” She licked her lips again, a smile on her face. He let go of her hair and began to undo his pants. “Yeah, you better believe you’re going to pay me good for that last job. I’ve been looking forward to tapping that pretty little ass of yours again.” He stood before her, his monstrous prick beginning to grow hard. “Show me how much you love my Orc cock.” 

She dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth. Even at a semi-flaccid state she struggled to fit him all beyond her moist lips. She cupped his balls with one hand, massaging them as she sucked on his throbbing muscle, causing him to close his eyes, a guttural moan coming from his lips. His hips slowly rocked back and forth as her oral ministrations hardened his dick. 

After a few moments, he pulled her off him. His dick stood fully erect and throbbed. “Show me what a bitch you are,” he demanded. She immediately bent down on all fours, her ass to him. “Good girl,” he said as he stood behind her, his hands rubbing her ass cheeks roughly. He grinned as he slammed his long, thick finger in her asshole ang began to finger fuck her sphincter. She rocked back and forth, moaning as his finger kept plunging into her dark hole. “You want me in your ass, don’t you, slut?” 

Her head bobbed up and down.   
“Prove it,” he ordered. 

She slammed her ass against his hand harder, begging him, “Fill my hole with your cock.” 

He pulled his finger out and spread her cheeks. He spit on the hole and without hesitation slammed himself into her ass. She cried out as his imposing size crammed its way up her ass. She begged for more. She begged for him to pound her harder. She begged for him to fuck her faster. Soon she was panting like a dog in heat as her climax neared and overcame her. The floor beneath her suddenly became wet as her juices burst forth as the Orc buried his dick deeper in her with each stroke. 

A low rumble came from his chest as he suddenly pulled out of her, flipped her violently onto her back and pumped his dick with his fist twice before he came over her naked breasts and down her stomach. His cum was thick as it pooled on her body and he watched as she began to rub it into her skin, bringing her fingers to her lips every so often, sucking the sticky juices off her fingers. 

Neither one of them saw the shadow moving along the ledge outside of her window as Meliandra crept quietly by as she sought the traitor Appius. 

# 

The room was dark, candlelight flickering against the walls as the wood in the hearth snapped as the flames licked it. Appius sat at his table listening to his contact as she paced his room. “this is the time to act, Appius,” she stated firmly. “He hasn’t been the same since he was ambushed at Darkwater Crossing. He has not left Windhelm since his return and he rarely ventures outside of the Palace. His capture did something; he’s been so preoccupied with what happened he doesn’t even have any desire to fuck his favorite wenches.” 

He snorted. “What a shame.” 

She glared at him, her green eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t see you debasing yourself for the cause.” 

“What? Staying locked in this castle day in and day out isn’t enough for you?” 

“You’re taken care of, aren’t you? Stop complaining, Appius.” 

“When I agreed to this foolish plan of yours, it was with the understanding that I would be a free man and not locked up like some skeever in a cage.” 

She smiled at him. “Well, you’re not locked up in a cell, now are you?” She flipped up the hood on her cloak, shielding her face. “I have to return to Windhelm before I am missed. You get that information to the general as soon as possible. The Legion will end this war once we dispose of Ulfric and then we will have everything we ever dreamed of.” 

He watched as the woman stalked out of his room and after a moment he threw a tankard against the door. “Bitch,” he swore under his breath. 

He stood up, intent on going to bed. Rikke would come see him in the morning and he’d tell her the new information then. Maybe he could plead with her for some freedoms, anything that would put an end to his monotonous days. 

That’s when he saw the tankard rising off the ground. He watched as it levitated through the air until it was in front of one of the windows and it crashed onto the floor. He saw the woman on the windowsill but before he could raise the alarm, a ball of light hit him, causing him to fall back, his words frozen in his throat as the paralyze spell took effect. 

A moment later he saw the young Breton smiling down at him as she said, “Your presence has been requested by the Jarl of Windhelm.”


	40. The Stolen Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *teaser chapter*

The cloaked figure made his way to his Mistress through the Sanctuary. His angry glare kept his dark siblings away from him as he strode angrily by. He found Astrid eating a meal with Festus and Arnbjorn. 

“Brother,” Astrid said in greeting. 

“We have a problem,” he stated flatly. 

“And what is that?” 

“Someone stole the Riften contract.”


	41. Weighing Life and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra returns to Windhelm with the traitor. Ulfric faces an obstacle.

The sun had broken the horizon eight hours into the journey to the snow eastern city of Windhelm. They had come across an abandoned wagon and had stolen a horse from Katla’s Farm outside of Solitude. Vorstag and Lydia had been taking turns driving the horse pulled wagon as Meliandra sat next to the bound Appius. Getting him out of Castle Dour had proven to be an adventure in itself; his room was mere steps from the main corridor, the same corridor that was traversed heavily by Legion officers making it impossible to sneak out that way. It took her only a short moment to devise a plan that got both her and the traitor out of the castle. Vorstag had questioned her while Lydia balked but neither one had a negative thing to say when the short Breton appeared at the window with the bound Nord slumped over her shoulder. They watched as the man fell as she tossed him easily over the side, the two of them holding an edge of an outstretched tent that they carried with them on their travels. They snuck out of the city undetected and after stealing the horse, headed toward Windhelm. 

Appius had been jolted awake by a bump along the stone road. He looked at the Breton, an angry look sat on his face. “You’re not going to get away with this!”  
Meliandra sighed as she fished an apple out of her sack. She rubbed the dirt off the fruit onto her tunic, then withdrew a dagger from its sheath on her waist. She glanced at the man as she cut the apple in half, then again quartering it. “What makes you think that I haven’t already?” 

“Rikke will come looking for me!” he stated firmly. 

Meliandra laughed. “I’m sure she will, once she gets her fill of Orc dick, that is.” She shoved a piece of apple into his mouth. “Eat; I won’t have it said that I starved you.” She took a bite of the apple and watched him watching her. 

He finished the apple slice and glared at her. “Whatever Stormcloak is paying you, I’ll double it if you let me go.” 

She snorted. “I’m not doing this for the gold.” 

His eyes widened in confusion. “If you bring me to him, he will have me killed.” 

She took a bite of the apple again, chewed it thoughtfully then looked at him. “Not my concern.” 

“Do you have no compassion?” he cried out. 

“Of course I do,” she answered. “Just none for you.”

“Just let me go! He’s going to kill me!” 

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed. “If I let you go, then he’s going to kill me.” He began to speak again but she waved him off and said, emphasizing her words with a jab of her dagger towards him, “Look, I promised Ulfric I’d bring you back alive; I didn’t promise that you would have your damn tongue.” 

Vorstag’s laugh echoed through Appius’s head for the rest of the journey back to the frozen city he had come to despise. He had feared an outcome such as this from the moment he had agreed to this and now seeing what his future held for him, he resigned himself to his dreaded fate. 

# 

The afternoon sun shone through the window of Ulfric’s study, bringing a touch of warmth to this blistery day. As a child he would have begged his father to let him play out in the snow, wanting nothing more than to engage in snowball fights with Galmar and Yrsarald. Things had been easy back then. As children they had little to worry about. Yet it seemed as if with the blink of an eye everything had changed in their world. His childhood forever changed when he was sent to live amongst the Greybeards, not seeing his homeland for over a decade and when he finally stepped foot in his beloved home, it was not as the carefree youth that he had once been, but rather a cold, hard, driven man with an intense loathing for the Mer. 

He paced the length of his study, his thoughts on Meliandra and if she had been successful on extracting the traitor or if she, like all the others before her, had failed. He had received word that she had made it to Solitude and even made it into Castle Dour but he had heard nothing since. He had sensed something about her that was different and he believed that she would have been successful on this mission. He only hoped that his gut feeling was right. 

He heard the sound of footfalls on the stone floors outside his chambers followed by a loud rapping against the solid wood door that he recognized as being his general. “Yes, Galmar?” he called out. 

The gruff general opened the door and walked in, his face showing surprise. He approached the jarl; the closer the man got the more Ulfric could see the pleasure in the eyes of the man. “What is it, Galmar?” 

“That Breton thief…,” he shook his head. “She’s back with Appius.” 

Ulfric smiled broadly. “I knew she was the one to do it.” He picked up his cloak and headed for the door. “Where is she?” 

“The war room. Appius is already down in the Bloodworks.” 

Nodding, he continued walking, his smile growing broader still. “Good,” he said with a hint of prideful flourish. “I suppose I should go thank the thief.” 

#  
She paced the room. She wanted to take her leave of Ulfric and return to Riften. She wanted no more to do with this blasted cold and this jarl. She glanced at the map on the table and noted that the Stormcloak flags were far and few in between. She saw Ulfric only had the support of a few holds; it was evident that he was losing the war. She continued examining her surroundings, very aware that she was being intently watched by one of Ulfric’s guards standing in the corner of the room. Every so often she would pick something up, look at it closely while the guard’s hand would instinctively go for his sword, then she’d set it back down and smile at the guard. 

Her heightened hearing picked up footfalls beyond the wood door; she turned as the gruff aged jarl walked through the door. His piercing blue eyes smiled at her; in that look she saw a smoldering fire, entrancing her with a fearful respect. He strode over to her, confident and sure. She found his imposing height both threatening and comforting as he stood before her. 

“I knew you were the right person for the job,” he said. “Did you run into any problems?” 

She shook her head. “Nothing I couldn’t handle, sir.” 

He smiled as he withdrew her ebony dagger from the folds of his robe, once again examining the ornate details of the craftsmanship before handing it to her. “I’d say that you earned the return of your weapon then.” 

She took her prized dagger in her hands, smiled and thanked him. She slipped the sheath into place on her hip, it’s familiar weight a reassurance to her; she looked the jarl in the eyes. “Does this mean that you trust me?” 

He chuckled yet there was no mirth behind it. “Trust is earned, not given. But,” he paused, “you are on your way to being trusted.” He set his heavy hand gently upon her shoulder as he continued, “Walk with me.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

She followed as he exited the room, entering the large hall. Large banners hung from the wall, all proudly displaying the Stormcloak bear. A handful of nobles ate at the grand table, laden with roasted meats and jugs of Nord mead. She eyed each one, looking and wondering. Ulfric noticed this and questioned her. She shook her head and said softly so that only his ears would hear her. Even the smallest rabbits have big ears, my Lord.” 

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his eyebrow raised and a curious look upon his face. “Very well.” They remained silent until they entered the passageways and then he turned to face her. “I admire your sense of confidential urgency so would you oblige me with an explanation of what all that was?” 

“Before I apprehended Appius, I observed him speaking with someone about things here in Windhelm. Sir, he’s getting all of his information from someone who has access to the Palace.” She paused a moment before continuing. “And you.” 

He searched her face intently, looking for signs of deception, and seeing none, asked, “Do you know who his contact is?” 

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, sir. I did see her face somewhat and I am sure I would recognize her voice if I heard it.” 

He nodded and began to walk again. “Then it seems as if I am still in need of you and your skills.” 

She sighed and followed him to the Bloodworks. 

# 

He was cold in his cell. The frigid city in the north was experiencing a cold front making it colder than normal. Add to that the cells were drafty with no source of heat except for the sconces along the walls which put out hardly any heat. He looked at the hay pile and thought about his circumstances. There was little doubt in his mind about what fate lay before him; he only wondered how much time he had left before Ulfric passed his sentence. 

Voices echoed off the stone walls; he recognized the deep voice of the jarl and became anxious. He quickly thought about the options he had before him and realized how few they were. A moment later Ulfric and the Breton entered the room. 

“Appius, Appius,” Ulfric states as he spread his hands vastly before him. “Tell me these things I’ve been hearing are not true. I know that you would never sully your family’s good name the way rumor has it.” He stood before the gate to the cell, a slight smile playing tauntingly upon his lips. “Surely this is nothing, more than a big misunderstanding, right, Appius?” 

He stared back at the jarl, confused. 

Ulfric turned to the Breton and asked her to retrieve the key to the cell’; they waited for her to return. Appius swallowed nervously, knowing nothing good was going to come of this but not knowing what to do. A moment later, the ebony haired Breton returned to Ulfric’s side, key in hand. At his command, she unlocked the cell and stood aside. He swallowed nervously again as he watched Ulfric walk calmly into his cell. He knew Ulfric too well to think that the jarl truly believed in his innocence. 

“My old, dear friend,” the rule said as he stood in front of him, “why don’t you tell me your side of the story and explain this situation – “ 

Suddenly Ulfric’s hand shot up and grabbed ahold of the traitor’s neck right below his jaw then slammed the man against the wall with a resounding crack, his eyes large with more fear than he had ever experienced in his life. A fire raged in the eyes of Ulfric Stormcloak and when he continued speaking, his voice was hard and thundering. 

“ -before I rip your goddamn throat out?” 

“My Lord,” he choked out. 

“’My Lord’?” Ulfric repeated with a growl. “You dare call me your lord when you’ve been betraying me?!” His grip got tighter around Appius’ throat. “You worthless waste of skin!  
I have half a mind to throw you into River Yorgrim with boulders tied to you!” 

“I know thing,” Appius managed to say. 

Ulfric smiled, his eyes glinting. “Yes, you do. I want to know who your co-conspirators are.” 

He shook his head in denial. “No one, sir. It was just me.” 

Ulfric gripped his throat tighter as he snarled, “Do not lie to me, Appius! You were seen and heard conspiring with someone! Tell me what I want to know!” 

With little air making its way to his lungs, he nodded what little he could. “Please, sir,” he rasped out, “release your hold on me and I’ll tell you everything.” 

“Of course you will,” Ulfric responded as he released the man. 

Appius fell to his knees and rested his hands in the hay beneath him. His eyes closed, the air burning their way through to his lungs as he asked for forgiveness in a quickly whispered prayer to the Divines. 

He knew that the time had come. 

# 

Meliandra saw it a moment too late. She cried out as she saw Appius pulling the cork out of a vial. She quickly cast a paralyze spell that crashed into his chest, collapsing him to the ground. Ulfric spun around to see his prisoner start foaming at the mouth like a rabid wolf. For a moment, terror shone through Appius’s eyes before they went dull. Meliandra rushed into the cell and stood behind the jarl who was examining the small black vial clutched in the hand of the now deceased traitor. She pried the vial from the immobile fingers and gently sniffed it. “A fast-acting poison, sir,” she said. “He had nothing on him when I brought him down to the cell.” 

Ulfric picked up the chair that sat in the corner of the cell and hurled it against the bars, his anger exploding just like the chair splintering into pieces.


	42. Debts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulfric and Meliandra speak privately, Meliandra realizes that Ulfric has her under his thumb still.

Ulfric had finally stopped stalking angrily around his study. It had taken a few bottles of mead mixed with Colovian Brandy to do so. Meliandra would never admit to it but she had been tempted more than once to cast a calming spell upon the jarl but knew the magic wary Nord would probably not be very accepting of her actions, good intentions or not. He had raged at the loss of his prisoner; he had raged at the fact that there was still at least one person in his confidence that was betraying him. He cursed at his misfortune to have the answers right there in his hand only to have them slip through his fingers, leaving him back at square one. 

Meliandra watched the jarl with interest as his voice boomed off the grey stone walls, paying keen attention to the rise and fall of his words. She began to understand how he had gained the support he had as his personal rant played upon one keeping their word and remaining loyal to what was right and true. As she listened to him, she began to see him from a different point of view. So, when he changed the subject from Appius’s suicide to her, she found that she was a little more willing to speak to him a bit more freely than she had been before. 

The jarl looked at the Breton, a slight smile hiding behind his lips. “Tell me, something, Meliandra.” He sat forward in the chair he sat in to the right of her, a bottle of mead in his hand as he rested his arms on his knees. “How the fuck did you get into my armory?” 

She sat back and chuckled. “Magic, sir.” She paused a moment as she let the statement sink into the Nord before she continued, “My mother was a gifted alchemist and enchanter. She had taught me from a very young age on how to mix potions and enchant items. After she died, I had to do whatever I could to survive, whether it was permittable by law or not. To avoid being caught, I honed my magic skills and became quite adept at what I could do. I picked up some jobs along the way and eventually fell in with the Thieves Guild and I have remained with them; they’ve been rather good to me.” 

The jarl nodded in understanding. “You know, your skills would be beneficial to the cause here.” 

She looked at him, her eyebrow arching as a smirk came to her face. “The cause?” she repeated with a chuckle. “You mean your war, right?” 

“My war?” he questioned as he sat up straight in his chair. “This is our war, the peoples of Skyrim’s war.” He paused before continuing, “Unless your loyalties lie with the Empire?” 

Her eyes turned cold as she spat her next words out. “The Empire holds nothing for me as long as they’re the Thalmor’s whore.” She glared at him for a moment. “Fuck the Thalmor.” She took a long pull off her own bottle of mead she held within her hand. 

Ulfric noted the contempt in her voice and smiled. “Then join the fight, Meliandra,” he prodded. 

She shook her head. “Sir, I have to refuse. The Thieves Guild has remained neutral and continues to be so. My loyalties lay with the Guild. I’m sorry.” 

“Is there any way I can persuade you to join?” he asked, smiling broadly at her. 

Smiling, she glanced down at her lap then back at him. “Sir, I’m not a soldier. I don’t follow rules. I’d be of no use to you on the field.” 

He nodded. “Fine.” He took a drink of his mead then looked at her again. “If I can’t use you in the field as a soldier, I’ll use you in the field as an informant.” 

“What?!” she stared at him incredulously, knowing she heard him correctly but not believing her own ears. “You can’t possibly be serious.” 

He smiled and nodded. “Without a doubt.” He set his drink down as he continued, his voice heavy with the weight of his decision. “The way I see it, you owe me your life. I could have easily had you executed for stealing from me. Instead Appius took your place. And since he died before revealing who his cohorts are and you have already seen the one, you are still in my debt until I release you from it. Therefore, you are being conscripted as a spy for me. You bring me any information you find on the Empire, I’ll pay you what it’s worth. If I send for you and your services, you will respond.” 

“And if I don’t?” 

Ulfric’s smile grew large yet the glint in his eyes showed only malice as he answered, “Then you will cease to be an asset to me and will be eliminated.” 

# 

A murder had been committed in Riften. The guards hadn’t been sure who they had seen running out of the orphanage. Rumor had it that it was a member of the Thieves Guild. 

Brynjolf heard these whispers but paid them no mind. He knew the murder happened after Meliandra had left her room that night, that it happened after Vex had seen her leaving. And while he knew it had been the Guild Master who had committed the murder, he did not know why it had happened. He had not heard from her in the days that had passed, nor had anyone else in the Guild. 

He recalled Karliah’s words at Irkngthand, that Meliandra had slipped into the darkness, and he began to see it as well. He wondered what exactly it was that had sent her over the edge and more importantly, would he be able to bring her back from it? Questions plagued his mind the more he thought about it, yet he could not tear his mind from those thoughts. 

Vex watched Brynjolf torture himself and she hated herself for not being able to fix it. After watching him drink himself into a stupor night after night, she made the decision that she would find some way to make things right, no matter what the cost. 

# 

She followed the blonde servant but barely listened to anything she was saying; she was raging inside at Ulfric and how he had taken advantage of how the situation had turned out. And argue as she did, she finally had to consented to giving Ulfric what he wanted, her servitude to him. 

When Galmar had come in to speak to the jarl, Ulfric had called for a servant then instructed her to bring Meliandra to a certain room. He had then dismissed both the servant and Meliandra without so much as a glance. 

She found herself resenting the man, the overinflated ego she sensed about him grated on her nerves. He held power in his hands, but she also knew that his power was ebbing, the tides of war were overpowering him. She knew he needed a miracle to win this war. 

The servant opened a door and stepped aside. “Your rooms, milady.” 

“My rooms?” Confused, she walked in the room to see that there was a full-sized bed set upon a wooden frame, it’s size larger than what she would have expected. It was furnished with merely the necessities, yet those necessities showed an elegance she would not expect for a guest’s room. She noticed an open door just beyond the bed and went to inspect it, discovering it was a study, much like the one off Ulfric’s personal quarters. There was even a private patio alongside the exterior wall. She returned to the main room, seeking the servant’s answers to her bewildered state of mind. “Are you sure this is where Ulfric wants me to stay? In here?” 

She nodded. “Yes, milady. I’m sure; Jarl Ulfric was very specific about it.” 

“Why did he put me in here?” she wondered aloud. 

The servant smiled slightly. “He must appreciate you, milady.” 

“Appreciate me?” She snorted. “I’m strictly an asset to him. I’m surprised he didn’t put me under guard. And why do you keep calling me ‘milady’? I’m no noble.” 

“An asset, milady? I don’t think so,” the maid responded. “He has only on rare occasions allowed anyone into these chambers. For you to be put here, that’s a privilege and means that he sees you as someone much more than an asset.” 

# 

“What I’m saying is that something isn’t right about that girl,” Galmar said gruffly. 

“There’s always something not right about anyone with you, old friend.” 

“Yes, but this one is different, Ulfric.” The aged general shook his head. “Just the thought of her makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.” 

The jarl chuckled. “Usually that’s a good thing.” 

“Thinking with your dick again?” Galmar countered. At Ulfric’s raised eyebrow he continued, “You can’t tell me that you have not stared at her tits.” 

A grin appeared on the ruler’s face. “Stared? No. Noticed…, I’d have to be blind to not notice the endowment she has been graced with.” He took a long pull off his drink. “She does have a certain beauty about her, doesn’t she?” 

“She does have an exotic look to her,” Galmar admitted. “If I trusted her, I’d screw her. But I don’t trust her and I don’t think you should either.” 

“I shouldn’t trust her or I shouldn’t bed her?” 

Galmar stared at the jarl. “So you do want to fuck her.” 

“Come now, Galmar,” he replied. “I am a man. I do have desires.” 

“And that’s why you have your castle wenches.” 

Ulfric shook his head. “How many of the wenches have you bedded? And how often? How many of my inner circle have had those same women that have visited your bed?” He shook his head again as he said, “No, a wench will not satisfy all of my desires.” 

“They’ll satisfy enough of mine to make me happy. Galmar took a drink and looked at his friend. “But seriously, Ulfric, I wouldn’t trust that Breton thief with my life.” 

# 

The guard watched the stranger warming himself by the fire outside the palace. He knew something about him was a miss yet the thought of approaching the tall Nord sent shivers down his spine. He kept his distance from the shoeless man, the primal look in the stranger’s eyes creating a wide berth between the two in more ways than one. 

He warily eyed the stranger as he finally ventured away from the warmth of the fire and into the shadows heading toward the docks. He breathed a sigh of relief, finally losing the feeling of being stalked by a hunter. 

The assassin stood just beyond the guard’s sight; he had toyed with the Windhelm guard long enough, the scent of his fear slowly elevating that brought a wolfish grin to the man. He heard the slight sound of glass tapping glass, a sound that reaffirmed Astrid’s orders to have the Breton taken alive and unharmed. While he wanted to show the Breton the error of her ways, he was bound to the promise he had made. 

Babette had brewed a potion specifically for this job and had reassured him that he’d have no problem using it. He simply needed to get the woman to inhale it’s fumes. While they had not planned on the target being at the Palace of the Kings and this had changed his plan of action, he had quickly reformulated his plan. He would bring this woman, this Meliandra Valeria, to Astrid. He had sworn it.


	43. An Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vorstag and Lydia search for Meliandra while Ulfric sends Ralof out to bring the thief back to Windhelm. A new opportunity opens for Meliandra.

“Something’s not right,” Vorstag stated flatly as he looked at the door of the inn. “She should be back by now.” 

Lydia glanced toward the door as well, nodding her head in agreement. “We should go find her. You know her habits a lot better than I do so you would have a much easier time tracking her.”

He agreed with the housecarl. “Do we have enough supplies?” 

The brunette housecarl thought a moment, mentally reviewing her travel pack as well as thinking about what she knew her male companion to have in his. Slowly she nodded, “Enough for a day or two.” 

The Nord nodded and smiled. “Good. I’ll pack up the room and you pay the tab. Then we go looking for Mel.” 

“I pay the tab?” she repeated indignantly. “Why am I paying for the room?” 

Vorstag’s smile took on the appearance of a smirk as he leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Because you are the housecarl and I’m the hired hand.” With that, he stood up and walked to their shared room. 

Lydia glared at the man. Her coin purse was quickly getting lighter while his was growing heavy. She rarely saw him spend any coin except for mead and stew; it was beginning to grate on her nerves. She was determined to speak to Meliandra about it when they found her. 

She approached Elda, the older Nord woman looking down at the housecarl. “I want to clear our tab.” 

“Uh-huh,” responded the innkeeper as she reached down and pulled out her journal, adding up the total the two owed her for the night. She prattled off a total and watched as Lydia counted out the gold. 

Vorstag appeared next to the brunette, his pack on his back while holding hers in his hand. “We set?” 

Lydia nodded as she took her pack from him and headed out the door into the frigid air. She pulled the hood up on the cloak she wore, the cold of Windhelm chilling her to her bones. They walked in silence along the bridge, Lydia silently fuming about things, wondering how she had ever ended up in a life like this. She had expected to be a housecarl to a noble, to someone who stayed at home and meandered around town, someone who attended parties and rubbed elbows with the higher class while thumbing their noses at the less privileged of people, not galivanting around Skyrim babysitting an ungrateful companion to her adventuring thane. 

At the end of the bridge the two Nords stood, looking left, right and straight ahead, unsure which direction Meliandra had taken when she left. Vorstag examined the footsteps in the snow, looking for the Breton’s small and light steps. A few moments after he pointed at the path leading south heading toward the edge of the water. “There, that’s her gait,” he said as he walked toward the snow-covered path. 

“Are you sure?” inquired Lydia, walking a few steps behind him. 

“Yeah,” he said as he began to explain to her how the Breton had a certain step to her walk that left very distinctive tracks. 

They walked for a while, keeping with the tracks that the thief had left behind. Soon Vorstag saw the second set prints that had merged with the path they were following. Pointing them out to Lydia, he said, “Someone was following her; from the footfalls, a heavy-footed person; see the deeper indentations in the snow?” He shook his head. “Her stalker outweighs her and he’s taller than her, his stride is longer. It didn’t take him long to overtake her.” He pointed to a cluster of prints, small ones that belonged to Meliandra and larger ones belonging to the person following her. He started to move on when a glinting caught his eye. He squatted down, reached into the snowberry bush and pulled out the ebony dagger Meliandra prized so much. “She would never leave this behind,” he said as he shook his head. He stood back up, placing the dagger in the folds of his cloak. He began to walk again but stopped short after a few steps. He stared at the tracks before him, how they had suddenly morphed from a large human’s footprints into a large beast’s paws. He looked up at Lydia and said, “This isn’t good.” 

# 

She was groggy; no matter how much she tried to open her eyes and wake up, sleep had constantly claimed her. Her head felt heavy and it pounded within the confines of her skull. Her stomach was clenched as a wave of nausea swept through her body, making her violently ill as she finally managed to sit up in a bed she did not recognize. Once the retching was done, she looked around, her vision slowly clearing to reveal a large semi-empty shack. Then she saw the assassin sitting atop a shelving unit, cleaning her fingernails with the tip of a dagger. 

“Oh, good. You’re awake. Sleep well?” came the sickly-sweet voice from the masked woman. 

Meliandra rubbed the temples of her head, mumbling somewhat incoherently. “What? Where am I?” She met the eyes of the Dark Brotherhood member. “Who are you?” 

“Does it matter?” She responded as she sheathed her dagger. “You’re warm, dry…” she paused a moment before continuing, “..and very much alive. That’s more than can said for old Grelod. Hmmm?” 

“You actually know about that?” 

“Know about it?” she chuckled icily. “Half of Skyrim knows. Old hag gets butchered in her own orphanage? Things like that tend to get around.” The assassin leaned against the wall behind her. “Oh, but don’t misunderstand. I’m not criticizing. It was a good kill. Old crone had it coming. And you saved a group of urchins, to boot. But,” she sighed, “there is a slight problem.” 

Meliandra remained silent, not liking the direction this was going. 

“You see, that little Aretino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For me and my associates. Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill…that you stole. A kill you must repay.” 

“I knew I wasn’t going to like this,” the Breton mumbled. “How am I to repay this debt?” 

“Funny you should ask.” The woman’s eyes smiled. “If you turn around, you’ll notice my guests. I’ve ‘collected’ them from… well, that’s not really important. The here and now. That’s what matters.” She leaned forward. “You see, there’s a contract out on one of them, and that person can’t leave this room alive. But…which one? Go on, see if you can figure it out. Make your choice. Make your kill. I just want to observe…and admire.” 

“I want no part of this.” She stormed toward the door. 

“I’ll cut right to it.” The woman’s voice turned hard. “You murdered the old woman in the orphanage. You owe the Dark Brotherhood a kill. I’ve come to collect. One of these poor sods has a contract out on their life. Which one is it? Any idea? Make your choice. Make your kill. And then you get to walk away.” 

Meliandra glared at the woman. “Fine,” she snapped as she reached for a bow and quiver on the table. “I’ll do it.” 

The assassin’s voice went light again. “See. I knew we could resolve this civilly. A debt owed must be repaid. You understand that.” Well, get to it then. Pick your guest, and send the poor fool to the Void. I’ll give you the key to this shack and you’ll be on your way.” 

Meliandra glanced at the three bound prisoners, back at the assassin, and then plucked three arrows out of the quiver. In one fluid movement, the thief nocked all three arrows and released them at once, each arrow finding and hitting their marks, a kill shot on each. She set the bow back down and looked up at the woman, her voice edged with irritation. “Satisfied?” 

“Satisfied?” she repeated with a laugh. “Aren’t we the overachiever? Three possibilities, three victims. Must have been one of them, right? So, why take the chance?”

“You told me to kill. I killed.” 

“Yes, yes you did. For you, my friend, seem to understand what’s truly important. When I give an order to spill blood, you follow it. No questions. No remorse.” 

“Yeah. Okay. Am I free to go?” 

“Of course. And you’ve repaid your debt in full.” She tossed Meliandra a key. “Here’s the key to the shack. But why stop here? I say we take our relationship to the next level. I’d like to officially extend to you an invitation to join my family. The Dark Brotherhood.” 

# 

“What do you mean you can’t find her?” 

Ulfric’s thunderous voice boomed off the walls of his study. The guard before him, his face as pale as the snow outside, was visibly shaken, his fear, showing in his eyes. He shifted his weight uncomfortably as the jarl stalked around the room angrily. “She’s nowhere to be found within the walls of the city, though I was given some information from Susanna and Elda over at the inn.” 

“And what did you find out?” the jarl demanded. 

“Susanna said that the Breton had gotten room along with two companions. When I asked Elda, she informed me that the two associates had checked out and left yesterday afternoon. A guard who overheard me speaking with Elda stated that he had seen the two leaving Windhelm and heading to the south.” 

Ulfric cocked an eyebrow as he repeated, “Heading to the south?” He stroked his chin, running his fingers through the length of his coarse, greying beard. “Thank you; you are dismissed.” 

He paced his study, his thoughts going over what he knew of the girl and what he suspected of her relationship with Ralof. After a moment, he walked through the study and into his personal chambers, making his way to the door. The guard was making his rounds when Ulfric called him over, instructing him to locate Ralof and have him report to the jarl. He had a feeling that if anyone could find the thief and bring her back it would be Ralof. 

Sometime later, the soldier appeared at Ulfric’s door, looking as fi he had run all the way to the Palace. “You sent for me, Jarl Ulfric?” 

Ulfric nodded. “I need you to gather a group of men and track down Meliandra and bring her back to Windhelm. Unharmed.” 

“Sir?” 

“Her companions were seen leaving Windhelm headed south. She may have headed to Riften.” 

“Riften, sir?” 

Ulfric stated flatly, “She’s part of the Thieves Guild. Find her, bring her back here. I don’t care how you do it, just bring me that thief!” 

# 

Meliandra followed the river towards Whiterun, intending on replenishing what little supplies she had before returning to Windhelm. She hadn’t had much with her when the assassin had taken her. While she had managed to get this far with what little she had had, she knew getting all the way back to Windhelm without supplies would be difficult, and not knowing how the temperamental jarl had reacted to her sudden disappearance, she wanted to be prepared to make a run for it if it turned out bad, even if it meant revealing that she had the power of the Thu’um. 

While she had made this long walk to Whiterun, she had given thought to what her course of action would be. She could steal a few items of value and use Mallus to fence the stolen items or she could take advantage of the jarl of Whiterun’s lustful desires for her and have him replenish her supplies. At this point in time, she didn’t care as long as she got back to that frozen city and its damnable jarl. 

She crested a hill and recognized the tent in the distance. She sighed with relief knowing Vorstag and Lydia were there, perhaps she would be able to avoid having to go to Whiterun and have to deal with Balgruuf. She quickened her steps, anxious to see her companions, knowing they would have food and water; her stomach grumbled at the thought of food. 

As she neared the tent, her ears began to pick up familiar sounds, but sounds she would never expect to hear from her traveling companions. She slowed her steps and crouched close to the ground, slowly making her way toward the tent. The opening soon came into her sight and what she saw caused her to stop and stare at the scene before her. 

There, on the bed roll, lay her housecarl, completely naked while a nude Vorstag kneeled upon his knees between the spread legs of Lydia. Lydia’s pleasured moans seemed to urge him on, his hips thrusting faster and faster, her hands curled into fists as she clenched the fur of the bedroll. Meliandra shamelessly watched the two fuck on the ground before her, the two of them completely unaware of her presence. Ina moment’s time, Vorstag gave a loud grunt as he slammed himself into the housecarl and held himself there, his orgasm pulsating throughout his body until he gave one last grunt accompanied by one last thrust. 

A moment later the thief stood in front of the opening to the tent, her presence still undetected by her companions. She cleared her throat and spoke loudly, startling Lydia. “Well that was entertaining. Glad to know that you two are getting along well.” 

#


	44. A Kiss, Sweet Mother

The tall muscular guard sheathed his greatsword as the last draugr fell before him. He picked the lock on the inner chamber door, then proceeded inside, making sure none of the dead that still walked lay in wait for them there. Once he established that all was safe, he exited the tomb and approached the noble he was sworn to protect and informed him that it was safe to enter. 

“Bring in the chest,” the noble commanded as he walked past him. 

The bodyguard nodded then returned to the horse drawn carriage and removed the wooden chest with its gruesome contents. He wrinkled his nose at the stench of a decaying corpse as he took a deep breath and held it as he carried the thing in. 

The noble instructed him to destroy the carriage and kill the horse and then to return inside. Detest the slaughter all he wanted, he obeyed with no hesitation. When he returned to the crypt he found his companion kneeling on the floor, an effigy of a person encircled by candles before him. A basket of nightshade petals sat beside him as he stabbed the body while chanting the words to the Night Mother’s prayer, summoning the Dark Brotherhood to do his deadly bidding.


	45. Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra makes her way back to Windhelm; Ralof discovers Meliandra isn't everything they think she is.

As she raised her hand to block the sun from her eyes, she saw the sandy-blond haired, well-built Battle-Born son leaning against the wooden pole outside Belethor’s store, his arms crossed as he smirked at her. She quickly shifted her gaze to Vorstag and Lydia next to her, hoping that if she didn’t acknowledge the man, he’d ignore her. She listened to Lydia as she ran down a list of the potions and food supplies they had just gotten from the Breton store keeper; she was aware of Idolaf’s approach and turned to him, annoyed. 

“I know it was you,” he stated flatly. 

“What was me?” 

“That stole my grandmother’s amulet that she had passed onto my sister when she died.” 

The image of the necklace flashed into her mind followed by the image of Idolaf above her caressing her body with his lips. She pursed her lips, staring at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Idolaf.” She began to turn back to her companions when the man grabbed her arm and stopped her. Lydia immediately drew her sword while Vorstag drew his. Meliandra stayed them with a wave of her hand, her eyes narrowing as she glared at the Battle-Born son. “I suggest you remove our hand before my housecarl lobs it off.” 

The Nord laughed. “Housecarl?” He narrowed his eyes in return. “You’re nothing more than a thieving whore. You can either return the necklace and its amulet or I’ll have the guards put you in the dungeons of Dragonsreach!” 

Meliandra laughed as she snarled loudly enough for the guards to hear her. “I am the jarl’s thane; I demand you release me at once!” 

“The jarl’s thane?” He laughed again, his eyes glistening with amusement. “I stand corrected! You’re a lying, thieving whore.” His grip grew stronger upon her arm. 

“Idolaf Battle-Born!” 

The sound of Whiterun’s jarl’s voice startled the Nord. The group turned; Balgruuf had come from the direction of the city gate, a small contingent of guards with him that included Irileth and Hrongar and now stood facing the member of one of the longest standing families with a look of anger on his face. “You will unhand Thane Meliandra immediately or you will be thrown into the dungeon yourself!” 

Meliandra smiled at Idolaf as his grip quickly released. The Nord stammered, “I am sorry, my Jarl. I did not know.” 

“See that it doesn’t happen again.” The jarl turned and approached Meliandra, a smile on his face. “Welcome home,” he said before he took her in his arms, kissing her cheek.   
“I’ve been waiting for your return.” He laid his hand upon her lower back as he said, “Come, let’s go to Dragonsreach and we can talk.” 

Meliandra followed with a glance back at her companions, her eyes betraying the frustration that was growing within her. 

# 

The blond Nord walked through the gates of Riften, immediately remembering why he didn’t like the fishing city; there was a stagnant smell about the city that was only offset by the smell of the mead that the Black-Briar family brewed here. His first order of business was to secure lodging for himself and his two companions, from there he would seek out Meliandra. Riften’s jarl was sympathetic to the Stormcloak cause, but they still wanted to come in and extract the thief with little to no incident. And the fact that she was a member of the Thieves Guild only added to the delicateness of the situation. There were rumors of some sort of shake up within the Guild, that the Guild Master had gone rogue and was then eventually killed by a small group of Guild members. 

He noticed the man hanging out by the gate, leaning upon the post and realized that he was being watched as well. He gave a slight nod and a “Kinsman” as he passed and walked across the bridge to the inn. 

It had been years since he had been to this city whose only real commerce was from the fishing or from the meadery and he would have gone longer without stepping foot into this cesspool of debauchery and thieves, yet this was the first step in finding the Breton. Ulfric was determined to have her back in Windhelm, why Ralof wasn’t really sure, but he had sworn to follow the jarl’s orders. He smiled to himself as he thought about Ulfric’s words of bringing her back to him by any means possible while imagining the young woman’s naked body beneath him. The thought of having her under his watchful eye excited him. He walked into the inn and approached the bar where the innkeeper stood watching him. “I’d like a room for me and my friends.” 

“Twenty gold.” 

“Twenty gold? That’s robbery.” 

The Argonian smiled at him, her pointed teeth making the sight slightly frightening to the Nord, and replied, “This is Riften. Thirty gold for the room.” 

“By the Divines! You’d think I was asking to stay with the Thieves Guild for the night.” He pulled out his coin purse and began counting. 

“Forty gold now for the insult.” 

Ralof opened his mouth a moment then quickly shut it. He put the required gold on the counter, then looked at the innkeeper. She collected the gold then secured it in her safe-box, pocketing the key in her apron. She led them to a room upstairs, gave them a key for the room, then returned downstairs. 

The trio unpacked their gear in near silence. They had already discussed what they were going to do before they made it within sight of Riften’s walls. Since Ralof was the one who had a relationship with her already, he would seek her out within the city while his companions would wait here. He put on a cloak and ventured downstairs, his eyes sweeping over the patrons as he searched for the Breton thief. He caught sight of the man he had seen earlier as he spoke to the brunette by the entrance. He felt her eyes on him, following him as he made his way out of the inn and out toward the marketplace. 

The sun glared into his eyes as he walked out; the sounds of a hammer hitting metal ringing in his ears. He decided to see if Meliandra employed the blacksmith to fix her weapons or purchased armor and weaponry from him. As he made small talk with the man he saw the brunette from the inn exit and walk into the marketplace, her eyes nonchalantly looking him over. He kept her in his peripheral view as he said to the man, “A friend of mine said you do good work. Meliandra? You know her?” 

The blacksmith didn’t look up as he continued working on a sword. “Can’t say that I do.” 

Ralof started to say more when he noticed the brunette handing a young child a bit of coin then watched as the child ran off to the lower part of the city. The brunette looked directly at him before making her way across the bridge and leaning upon a post. He turned back to the blacksmith to discover the man had disappeared. 

# 

Balgruuf rolled to his side, collapsing upon the softness of his bed, his breathing slowly returning to its normal pace. Sweat glistened off his body, the smell of sex heavy in the air around him and the Breton. He hadn’t given much time to talk, he had rushed through the formalities of court, granting Meliandra a home within the city’s walls, making sure that Proventus recorded it in financial records of Whiterun for all prosperity. 

“What did you think of the climb to High Hrothgar? Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

“I haven’t gone.” 

The jarl turned to stare at her. “Then what have you been doing all this time? Where have you been?” 

Meliandra sat up, tossing the covers off her as she swung her legs off the side of the bed. She allowed her irritation to creep into her voice as she answered the agitated jarl. “I have had prior obligations that I have needed to take care of. Sitting amongst a group of aged old monks just is not something that I have the time for.” 

“You are Dragonborn!” Balgruuf sat up, taking her shoulder to turn her to face him. “Do you realize what that means?” 

She pulled away from him as she stood up. “That I’m some sort of hero?” she snapped back at him as she grabbed her clothing and began to dress. 

“You can take the soul of a dragon at a time when dragons are coming back! You can save hundreds of lives!” He walked towards her. “How can you ignore the plight of the peoples? You have this ability, and the Greybeards can teach you how to use it!” 

She glared at him. “I am no fucking hero.” With that she walked out, slamming the door behind her, leaving the jarl staring after her. 

The woman enraged him. Could she not see he was trying to help her? Could she not see that she was a person of great importance? Could she not see that he wanted her as his? He began pacing the length of his chambers, his thoughts on the tempestuous Breton. He was bound and determined to make her his, for a union between him and the Dragonborn would ensure the protection of his city but would also guarantee his name would be remembered for ages henceforth. But it seemed that the only way that he might be able to convince her to wed him would be for him to impregnate her, a prospect he admittedly greatly enjoyed. 

# 

Frustrated, Ralof stepped into the Black-Briar Meadery, intent on at least getting a bottle of mead after searching for clues as to the possible whereabouts of Meliandra for the past couple hours with no success. Every time he brought up her name, the lips of the people became sealed shut and they could suddenly no longer spare him any more time.   
He started to understand that their comprehension of who she really was, was very wrong. 

There was a lone customer at the counter nursing a bottle of mead; Ralof joined him at the counter, ordering a mead for himself. He sat in silence for a moment, going over everything he knew about the Breton, attempting to decide what his next course of action would be. He knew he was going to have to get word to Ulfric that Riften had turned out to be a dead-end and that was something that he dreaded having to do, Ulfric was easily angered when confronted with an impasse. He took a pull off the bottle, deciding to give it one last try and ask the Nord next to him. 

“You’ve been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” came the man’s voice before Ralof could begin to speak. 

“Excuse me?” came Ralof’s reply. 

“Word is this, you’re asking the wrong questions around town.” The redheaded man turned to face him, his eyes determined. “Why are you looking for the Guild, lad?” 

He sighed deeply. “I’m not looking for the Guild, only Meliandra,” he stated calmly as he took another drink of his mead. 

“And why are you looking for her?” 

Ralof thought a moment then answered, “Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm has requested her presence at the Palace of the Kings.” 

The man’s face became set in stone. “What does Ulfric want with the Guild Master?” 

“Guild Master?” Ralof repeated, surprise edging his voice. “Meliandra is the Guild Master?” At the man’s nod, he continued, “That explains a lot.” He took another drink then met the Guild member’s eyes. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. Meliandra agreed to do a job for the jarl, what it was, I don’t know. All I know is that she’s supposed to be in Windhelm, but she’s come up missing.” 

# 

Meliandra couldn’t get her thoughts off Brynjolf and what he had said the last time she was in Riften. She thought of the plans she had made for herself as a young child and she thought about making some new plans, ones that included a life with the Nord. She wondered what it would be like to have a family as she absent-mindedly rubbed her hand across her stomach. 

“You alright, Mel?” Vorstag asked. 

She nodded as the pair walked down the cobblestone path out of Whiterun Hold. “thinking about something Bryn said last time I saw him.” She shook her head with a frown.   
“I’m just confused and I don’t know what to do.” 

“You know you’re going to have to sit down with him and talk to him about what happened.” 

“Why? So he can pity me?” she asked sarcastically. “So he can make more promises that he’ll fail to keep?” She shook her head. “He doesn’t need to know. It’s better this way.” 

Vorstag sighed as he nodded. “Your choice, Mel. It’s your life, your decision. I have to respect that.” 

She eyed him a moment as they walked. “So, what’s the deal with you and Lydia?” 

He smiled as he thought about the brunette they had left back at Meliandra’s new home. “Oh, come on, Mel, I’m not about to kiss and tell.” 

Her eyebrow raised. “Seems like a bit more than kissing was going on when I came across you two yesterday.” 

He chuckled. “Yeah, guess you’re right, huh?” He shrugged his shoulders. “It all depends on her. I’d like to get to know her better.” 

“I think you know her better than I do,” she laughed. 

A large grin spread across his face. “Mel, you’re terrible.” 

She laughed. “I might be, I just might be.”


	46. Good Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra and Brynjolf face each other for the time since her disappearance.

He knew it was late, how late he wasn't sure, but late enough that Vekel would be complaining about how many bottles of mead were gone. Brynjolf drained another bottle as he thought about the conversation he had had with the Stormcloak soldier about Meliandra and he thought about his own conversation with the Guild Master about the Guild's neutrality in this war. As he uncorked another bottle, he recalled the last time she had been at the Cistern, making love to her and how she had disappeared into the night. The more be thought about it, the more he recalled little details about her return, how she had Ulfric's signet ring, how she had told him that she had a lot going on but wouldn't go into detail even though he had offered to help her, how she had been distracted the entire time. He should have pressed for more information, but he had had other things on his mind at the time. 

"Ah, Meli," he said drunkenly to himself, "what kind of trouble did ya get yourself into?" 

"Nothing I can't handle, Bryn." 

From his spot on the floor, he looked up, the bottle in his hand almost slipping from his grip as he blinked his eyes, sure the alcohol was playing tricks on him. He reached for the edge of the counter to pull himself up, but his drunken state refused to cooperate with him as his fingers slipped off the counter edge, making him fallback. He rubbed his eyes, his vision refusing to un-blur itself. "Meli?" he slurred. 

She shook her head and went around the bar saying, "Vekel's going to charge all of this to the Guild, you do realize this, right?" 

He glanced down where Meliandra was looking and saw almost a case of mead laying scattered across the floor, all empty. He looked back at the Breton. "Aren't you supposed to be missing?" 

She reached her hand down to help him home. "Missing? Why would I be missing?". She pulled the inebriated man to his feet, steadying once he was upright. 

"Stormcloak soldier was looking for you, said something about you doing a job for Ulfric?" 

She blanched and attempted to keep her face a blank. "Oh, really? That's good to know. Did they say anything in particular?" 

He looked at her and for a moment he felt like everything was right, that Meliandra had come back home, that she had come back k to him. Then he saw the worry in her eyes. "You are in trouble, aren't you, lass?" 

She smiled at him as she replied, "It's nothing I can't handle, Bryn. Now, let's get you to bed so you can sleep off the drink, alright?". She started to lead him away from the counter when he stopped, staring at her. She could see the thoughts churning in his eyes and sighed. "Bryn-" 

"No, Meliandra," he snapped as he interrupted her. "What the fuck has been going on?" His voice began to betray the anger and frustration that had been building up within him. "You're here for less than a night, just long enough to check in, fuck me, and then you disappear in the middle of the night with no clue as to where you have gone to.". He slammed his fist onto the counter. "Dammit, what in Oblivion is going on with you?" 

"Can we talk about this tomorrow when you've slept this off?" 

"You mean so you can sneak off again? Fuck no. We're having this discussion right here, right now, lass." 

She took a deep breath. "Fine. I'll tell you. Just lower your voice, alright?" He crossed his arms, waiting. "When I picked up that job in Windhelm from Delvin, I let my curiosity get the better of me and checked out what the locals were saying was a haunted house. Turns out the townspeople we're hearing a kid praying to the Night Mother for the Dark Brotherhood.". She noticed how his eyes went large at the mention of the Brotherhood; she glanced at the floor for a moment, then looked back up at him. "I didn't intend to steal the contract. I was going to ignore it." 

"Oh no, Meli," the Nord breathed softly, worry edging his voice and creasing his brow. 

"The night I came back here... You were asleep and I had a few things on my mind. I decided to take a walk to try and clear my head, to try and sort things out. Well, I was passing Honorhall and heard a child trying not to cry aloud." 

Brynjolf closed his eyes as he said, "You killed Grelod." 

She nodded, her voice barely a whisper as she answered, "Yes; the guards saw me." 

"And that's why you ran off." When she nodded he asked, "So where have you been?" 

"You asked me before what I did to get my freedom from Windhelm's jail." Brynjolf nodded, his eyes questioning. "I agreed to do a job for him, something he needed done but had yet to get someone who was able to actually get the job done. I was heading to the job from here, my intention was to leave the next day. Having the guards see me after killing the old lady...well, I had to leave town and lay low for a bit." 

"So this job for Stormcloak, you've finished it?" he asked. 

"Yes and no." At his confused look, she explained. "In the process of ringing back this prisoner Ulfric wanted, I discovered another player in a this conspiracy against Ulfric. I don't know who this other person is and before Ulfric could find out from the prisoner, the guy killed himself. Since I'm the only person that has seen or heard this other conspirator, Ulfric has not released me from this debt." She pulled her hair back as she rolled her head from side to side, relieving some of the strain in the muscles in her neck. 

"What the hell?" Brynjolf snapped suddenly. 

"What?" A confused look appeared on Meliandra's face. 

He reached toward her and, taking her chin in his hand, turned her head to reveal a large bruise on her neck in the shape of a handprint. "Did he do this to you?" he demanded, his anger flashing in his eyes. 

"What are you talking about?" 

"The bruise on your neck! He choked you, didn't he? I'll kill, jarl or not, I'll fucking kill him!" 

"No," she answered calmly. "Ulfric did not choke me." 

He stared at her, his eyes looking her over. He no longer to be drunk, his anger seemingly sobering him up. He sneered suddenly. "Oh, I see. I know you, Meliandra. You're a hellion, wild and untamed. You quickly give control to whoever it is you're fucking.". He let go of her chin, a look of disgust coming over him. "You let that bastard fuck you, you fucking whore." 

This time Meliandra snapped. "I didn't fuck Ulfric and even if I had it would have been my choice. I don't fucking answer to you, Brynjolf." 

"No, but if you've dragged us into this god forsaken war, you will be answering to the Guild." He shook his head. "I don't know what happened but you're not the same, lass." 

"You're right, Bryn, I'm not the same. Mercer made sure that the Meliandra you met at the Bee and Barb was dead; his blade might have only pierced this mortal coil, but it found it's mark inside of me, killing the person I was ready to become." She shook her head. "You'll never understand." 

"It's not for lack of trying, that's for sure, Meli," he snapped back. "It's not like I haven't tried to talk to you since we discovered Mercer's betrayal." 

"What is there to talk about, Brynjolf? You and Vex? Me and Mercer? Me and anyone I've bedded? What more is there to say between us?" 

Brynjolf shook his head, resigned. "You're right, Meli. There's nothing left for us." He turned and walked towards the Cistern. "Finish the job for Stormcloak, do whatever it is you're gonna do, I won't stand in your way." 

Meliandra started at him, her emotions churning inside of her. How did things go from alright to horrible in such a short amount of time? Her plans had been to right her wrongs, instead everything disintegrated in front of her. As she watched him walk away she felt the coldness returning to her, hardening her heart again. "Good," she said icily. She turned on her heel and headed out in the opposite direction, saying loud enough for him to hear, "It's not like you love me or anything."


	47. Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulfric confronts Meliandra upon her return to Windhelm.

Ulfric stood in the war room glaring at the blond Nord standing before him telling him that he had not found the Breton thief and had no idea where she might be. He had promised the man to hear him out before reacting; his first reaction had been to Shout his frustration at Ralof but held his tongue. He took a deep breath and asked for Ralof to continue. As he listened, his eyebrow arched, and he began to smile, but he was not prepared to hear what Ralof would tell him next. 

“Sir,” he said matter-of-factly, “we thought that Meliandra was just some petty thief with the Thieves Guild that got lucky with a bit of magic and potions.” He shook his head with a look of appreciation on his face. “She is so much more than your average thief; she’s the one who killed the previous Guild Master and replaced him.” 

“Ambitious thief, isn’t she?” Ulfric stated dryly. 

Ralof shook his head. “Apparently, the previous Guild Master, a Mercer Frey, had betrayed the Guild and had gone rogue. Meliandra and a couple other members went after him and she’s the one who cast the killing blow.” 

The jarl crossed his arms, a thoughtful look on his face. “So, she did what needed to be done then?” 

Ralof nodded. “It appears so, my Lord.” 

Ulfric began to speak again yet hesitated when a scout came into the room, a look of urgency about him. “Yes?” he asked, irritation edging his voice. 

“My apologies, Sir, but you asked to be notified if the Breton woman was seen?” 

His eyes bore down upon the scout. “She’s been seen?” Ulfric responded. At the scout’s nod, he demanded, “Where?” 

“Along the road from Riften headed here; about a few hours south of us.” 

The jarl smiled, the thoughts in his head forming ideas and plans for his own future role in the history of Skyrim. He thanked and dismissed the scout, then turned to his officer. “Good work. Get some rest and report in tomorrow to Galmar.” 

Once Ralof had departed, he headed to his chambers and his private study. He had assumed that the Breton woman was more than what she had presented herself as, it had to take more than a good grasp of magic and potion making to have gotten her past all of his palace’s defenses and into his personal armory. He had just never imagined that she’d be even that good to be that high up within the group of thieves. 

He shook his head in wonder about how he hadn’t picked up on her true ability; she had been secretive enough about who she was in the first place. He had never come across anyone with the skills she seemed to have, and he desired to have her working for him. He frowned as he wondered aloud, “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” She had had opportunities to bargain with him when she was his prisoner, she could have offered her services as well as the Guild’s aid in his fight against the Empire and he did not doubt her loathing of the Empire to be assume her loyalties laid with his enemies. He grew more and more curious of this woman and no matter what he discovered about her, his curiosity refused to be quenched and began to grow into an obsession. He wanted to know all that he could about this thief; what else was she hiding from him? 

He was determined to find out no matter what the cost. 

# 

He followed the barmaid from Candlehearth, his lips curling into a chilling smile colder than the snow on the ground of this frozen city. He felt the comfort of his knife in his hand, knew that it yearned from the taste of flesh and blood, and he was willing to feed it if it aided him in his bloody endeavor. He had acquired plenty of bone and flesh as well as jugs of blood, but he had failed to find any sinew worth using nor had he found marrow worth a damn. His time was drawing close, he needed to act soon. The girl was the perfect specimen, he knew those tendons in that young body would be supple and ripe for his needs. 

Slowly he crept closer to the woman, her blood calling out to him to adorn his blade, a willing volunteer for his flesh magic, a magic that would prove his superiority over those fools in Winterhold. This would prove to the entire world his brilliance and garner him the respect he had been so long denied. 

He began to withdraw his knife, ready to make the kill here in the middle of the city when a set of guards appeared from around the corner. He quickly withdrew his hand from his pocket, empty, waving to the guards in greeting, cordial in tone while in his mind he began to rant and rave at the timing these imbeciles had, a night wasted was more than he could afford, but circumstances demanded he try again on yet another night. 

# 

It was nearly time for the evening meal when the young Breton walked into the throne room of the Palace of the Kings, her amber eyes seeking out Ulfric’s, meeting them without flinching. He kept his face a blank as he watched her walking toward him, intent on demanding an explanation of where she disappeared to while keeping her in the dark that he knew her secret. He sat up straighter in his throne as he watched the woman approaching, his eyes vacant of expression. 

“Apologies, my Lord, for my unexpected absence,” she stated in a calm voice as she stood before him. “I give you my word, it will not happen again.” 

“Is there some reason I should believe you, thief?” he demanded. “Why would I trust a word that comes forth from your lips?” 

She spread her hands in a sweeping gesture as she answered, “Because I stand before you facing your ire when I could have gone into hiding. But I am no coward so here I am.” 

Ulfric smiled at her words, knowing the truth that laid within them. “Good, you have brains as well as beauty. Then you won’t have any problem telling me where the fuck you’ve been for the past week?” 

She looked around at the people gathered for a meal with the powerful jarl, then looked back at him. “If it would please my Lord, perhaps we could speak in private?” 

He saw the look of distrust on his general’s face; he waved it off as he returned his gaze to the woman before him. “Give you a private audience? Why would I do so? You have given little reason to trust you, Meliandra.” 

She took a deep breath. “If you will grant me the liberty of speaking freely with you in private, I promise you will begin to trust me.” 

He stood up, his size suddenly becoming greatly imposing as she realized how much he towered over her small frame. “Come, I’ll grant you your private audience, but be aware, thief, I will not tolerate anything but the truth from you. You have tried my patience as well as testing my hand.” 

Nodding, she followed the aged ruler into his war room. She watched as he dismissed his guard with a wave of his hand then watched as he crossed his arms as he gazed at her, a hint of a smile on his face. “You have not been very forthcoming with me, Meliandra.” 

Confused, she stared at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow you. What do you mean I haven’t been forthcoming? I agreed to tell you who I was and who I worked for. I agreed to bring you Appius and I did so. What am I not being forthcoming about?” 

“Why don’t you tell me,” he paused before adding, “Guild Master?” 

Her reaction was immediate, her face paling, a nervous swallow followed by a shifting of her weight as she avoided his eyes. “You think I’m the Guild Master?” 

“No, I don’t,” he answered, “because I already know that you are indeed the Guild Master. Don’t try to deny it, Meliandra. Your own man in Riften gave you up to Ralof.” 

She took a deep breath and met his eyes, a slight defiance in her own. “I’m going to have to have a talk with Brynjolf. Yes, I am the Guild Master. That was not information I was wanting to give you at this time.” 

“Regardless of you wanting it or not, I now know.” He uncrossed his arms and walked toward her. “Would this be the reason why you and your companions at Candlehearth left town abruptly?” 

“My companions?” She chuckled. “You mean Vorstag, a hired blade, and Lydia, a woman sworn to protect me. Forgive me for wanting to keep them out of the details of the jobs I do. They do as I say, no questions asked.” She met the jarl’s eyes again and continued speaking. “As for my whereabouts, let’s just say that I made the mistake of crossing paths with the Dark Brotherhood.” 

“Well, if you’re standing here in front of me, I am going to assume that it was a favorable outcome on your part. But, what about the Brotherhood? Are they going to be seeking you out?” 

She laughed, shaking her head. “No, they won’t be trying to kill me.” 

“You seem sure of yourself.” 

“I’ve branched out my services. I serve Sithis.” 

“You joined the Brotherhood?” At her nod, he said, “Yet you won’t join the fight against the Empire.” 

“No, I won’t. No politics, only gold.” 

“Just like all Outsiders, you don’t give a damn about Skyrim,” he snapped. 

“Outsider? Just because I’m not a Nord I’m an Outsider?! I’ll have you know my mother was from the Reach, as were her parents before her and theirs before them. My blood may not be tied to this land like yours, but my family has been here for generations. Skyrim is as much my home as it is yours!” 

“Got some fire to you, don’t you?” 

“Most of my youth was spent hearing how I was inferior to other people, that my Breton blood wasn’t good enough for other people. In recent months I’ve heard those same sentiments echoed in the words of those who wish to rid the land of those who don’t share those views.” 

He smiled slightly. “You misunderstand when we say ‘Skyrim is for the Nords’. This land is demanding, not all can handle living here. WE are a people that have adapted to the harsh conditions of this land. While it once belonged to the Snow Elves, we tamed the wilds, we made it hospitable. This is not a land for milk drinkers. The Empire has grown weak, making decisions about our lives here when they are disconnected from the realities of our lives here while they lay in bed with the very people who work to stifle our way of life.” He paused, motioning for her to follow. “What has the Empire done to you to cause you harm?” 

“They bowed to the Aldmeri Dominion.” 

He looked at her a moment, searching her face, looking for the unspoken words that would reveal the source of her pain and anger, yet her face was a blank. Deciding to put it aside for the time being, he spoke again. “Very well. Stay neutral in the war, but keep in mind that you are in my employ.” 

“As if you didn’t make that clear by sending Ralof to Riften to find me.” 

“You were nowhere to be found in the city. What would you have done if you were in my shoes?” he responded to her retort. At her silence, he glanced at her, saying, “See, you would have made the same decision I did, Guild Master.” She nodded, and they continued walking through the passageways up to Ulfric’s chambers. “You have a job to complete for me, Meliandra. And there are plenty more jobs for you to do for me and I promise, I will pay you well. There’s only one thing I ask in return and that’s for you to not betray me. I do not suffer a fool and one who betrays me is truly a fool.” 

The jarl opened the door to his chambers to reveal two wenches in the middle of their sex play upon Ulfric’s bed. He paid them no mind as he walked by although Meliandra’s attention was drawn to the brunette who had her face buried in the lap of the redhead, drawing moans of pleasure from the latter. Ulfric smiled at Meliandra as she kept looking back at the pair. “Castle wenches,” he said by means of explanation. 

“And they have free access to your personal rooms?” 

“Rory and Mila do; no other wench is permitted in my chambers unless invited.” He motioned to the girls. “I can have them leave if it is too much of a distraction?” 

She shook her head, a look of disinterest on her face. “Who am I to tell you how to run your palace? I was merely… curious.” 

He smiled again, a look of mirth in his eyes. “Curious?” he repeated, a chuckle in his voice. He walked toward his study, indicating she should follow as he began to speak again. 

“You still have yet to prove yourself to me, Meliandra. I have the utmost faith in your abilities, and what I have seen of your skills definitely impresses me. And while I have reason to believe that you share the same view towards loyalty that I do, I do not know if I can trust you to be loyal to me.” He turned to her only to see that she had stopped short behind him, her head cocked to the side, listening as Mila purred to Rory, speaking the words Rory demanded to hear. He watched as she walked toward the two women on his bed, the look of caution upon her face keeping him quiet, intrigued. Without warning, her hand shot down, grabbed ahold of Mila’s hair and pulled the woman’s head up, looking at her intently. 

“What in the name of the Divines?” Mila cried out. 

Meliandra smiled wickedly. “A castle wench? A perfect cover for a spy feeding information to the enemy.” She looked at the jarl. “My debt to you is cleared. Here’s your conspirator from Castle Dour.”


	48. Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angry Ulfric recruits Meliandra to interrogate his former lover

One of his favorites. 

One of the first of the favorites he had. One of the few he had cared for. She had been different from the start; a young girl, beautiful and alone, surviving by warming the beds of lonely soldiers far from home. He had discovered that she had been orphaned when she was in her seventeenth year and had turned to the only trade she could to survive. She didn’t talk about her deceased parents, but gathered that she had had some form of education as she was learned enough to be able to read and write. 

He Shouted at a practice dummy, his Thu’um ripping the straw dummy apart; he glared at the exposed wood of the post, his anger boiling to a dangerous tipping point. He had taken Mila from working the taverns in whichever town she found herself in and had brought her into the palace, giving her the safety of his walls, the protection of his guards, a warm bed, fine clothing and jewelry, anything that a woman could possibly desire. She had been happy for a while, but a few years later she had become withdrawn and prone to bouts of depression. He had seen his own mother slip into the same darkness when he was a young child before he had been sent away. That’s when he understood why his father had taken a mistress, just as he had taken Rory to his bed more often when the shadows that plagued Mila overtook her. 

He found his axe resting heavy in his hand, gripping it tightly as he advanced on the next practice dummy. Instead of seeing the burlap wrapped straw mannequin, he saw Mila’s big brown doe eyes looking up at him. He swung viciously, cutting into the burlap, his mind dwelling on how he had trusted her and how he could have fallen in love with her.   
His axe bit deep inside the wood, splitting the post. His Thu’um bounced off the walls again, the anguish filled Shout echoing around him. He was beyond angry with himself for Mila having been so successful at pulling the wool over his eyes so successfully. 

The sound of approaching footsteps caused him to glance behind him; irritation in his eyes. The petite Breton met his eyes warily, her steps cautious. Once again, he felt his breath catch at the innate beauty that was this Breton thief. He was both suspicious and intrigued by her, and that made her more alluring to him. He glowered at her as she made her way to him. “I said I was to be left alone.” 

“And I told you that I don’t follow orders well,” she quipped back with a tentative smile on her face. 

“This is not the day to test my boundaries, thief,” he stated harshly. 

A slight frown appeared on her face for a moment then disappeared as she reported, “Mila’s in a cell, restrained. We’ve also removed her clothing in an effort to avoid a repeat of Appius’s suicide.” 

He replaced his axe upon his hip and looked at her. The amber eyes, they drew him in, they had a sense of warmth about them. He felt the foul mod lifting. “Has she given up any information?” 

She shook her head. “Nothing of much value. She has been abusive to Galmar every chance she gets and if I might take the liberty to speak freely, she talks like one who has lost their mind.” 

Confusion set upon his face as he looked at her. “What do you mean?” 

She shrugged slightly as she answered, “She speaks in riddles, blabbering on about some nonsense of sons being denied their fathers so fathers are denied their sons.” 

Even more confused, he shook his head. “I would like to believe I know what she’s talking about but I’m afraid I didn’t know anything about her at all.” 

She cleared her throat hesitantly. “Sir, if I might be so bold again, but what about, what was the redhead’s name again?” 

“Rory?” 

“Yes, what about her? What do you know about her? I hate to say it, sir, but we don’t know who all might be involved and what they had hoped to accomplish.” 

A half a smile appeared on his face. “You sound like Galmar.” 

“I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not; I don’t think Galmar likes me.” 

“Galmar doesn’t like many people at all so I wouldn’t worry about it,” Ulfric responded dryly. 

She raised her own eyebrow, returning his gaze. “Well, I just got to listen to him rant and rave about he doesn’t understand how you can trust me when you’ve just discovered Mila’s betrayal.” 

The jarl smirked as he held her eyes. “He does make a point; there’s very little reason for me to trust you, yet I have afforded you a small amount of my trust. But, him and I have already had our discussion about you and while we might disagree, I am the jarl and he will do whatever is asked of him.”

“He seems to think that Mila will speak to you, but he doesn’t trust her any more than he does me at this point.” 

Nodding, he responded, “She’ll speak to me, whether or not she likes it. And you’re going to ensure that she starts talking.” 

“Me?” she questioned. “How do you figure?”

Deadpanned he answered. “We can forego the prayer to the Night Mother and just get down to business. You’re a member of the Dark Brotherhood; you’re going to get the information from her and you’re going to use any means necessary.” 

# 

Mila laughed as Ulfric walked into the jail, a cackling that bounced off the rock walls somewhat frighteningly. She saw the Breton following behind him and sneered; she had seen the woman when she had brought a bound Appius into the Palace of the Kings. She knew she should have left Windhelm right then and there but in her thirst for bringing ruin to this man, she stayed. Against her better judgment, Mila wanted to finish what she had started. She did not think the Breton had known about her; she realized too late that she had been wrong. 

Ulfric approached her, his eyes narrowed wuth hatred; she sneered before spitting at him. He looked down then back at her and with no sign of hesitation, backhanded her. Her eyes widened in shock. He snarled at her, “Do not think that I will afford you the luxury of mercy, wench.” 

She laughed the she spat at him again, hitting him on his chest. “You wouldn’t know mercy if it came up and sucked your cock.” 

He grabbed her below her jaw and pushed her up against the wall. “The only reason I have not killed you is because you have information I want.” He looked at her with disgust in his eyes. 

“Why should I tell you anything?” she spat. “You’re going to kill me anyhow.” 

“You know what, Mila?” he asked as he took her chin in his hand, “there are far worse punishments out there than death.” He glanced back toward the Breton. “Meliandra, are you ready to begin?” 

That was when Mila saw that beneath the black fur cloak the Breton wore was the robes of the Dark Brotherhood and began to watch with the dawning realization that her death was going to be drawn out, not just days or weeks or even months, but years, perhaps decades, with growing dread she watched as the woman laid down a backpack and removed a set of torture devices of various sorts and then removed her cloak as she approached her, a glint in her eyes, and replied to the jarl, “More than ready.” 

# 

Torbjorn sat fuming y the fire on the second floor. It wasn’t enough for him to have his daughter taken from him and his family in such a horrific and brutal way, it wasn’t enough that a constant gloom had overcome his wife and surviving daughter, it wasn’t enough that his beloved wife spent most of her days in the bottle, but to have his precious Friga’s best friend betray them by stealing from them in their time of grieving was beyond his limits. The damn Breton girl might have been friends with his girls when they were all children, but obviously her friendship wasn’t anything but a façade to be close to the wealth his family held, waiting for the opportune time to steal from them. 

Muiri had tried to convince them that she hadn’t done anything wrong, but he wouldn’t hear any of it, he had seen her before with the man he had seen fleeing his home, the family’s warhammer on his back. If Tova had not stopped him, he would have killed the Breton himself, but his wife prevented him, cursing the girl and banishing her from their home forever. 

Now, hours later, a drunk Tova lay passed out in their bed, Friga’s baby blanket clutched in her hand. Nilsine could be heard softly weeping in her room for her beloved twin sister. Torbjorn glowered as he stared into the flames. What more would he be forced to endure? 

#

The conspirator lay strapped to the rack, her head restricted from movement by a thick leather strap secured on her forehead. A bucket with a sieve through the bottom sat perched above her head. Ulfric had seen this water technique years before when he was a prisoner of the Thalmor; it was a very effective method of torture. He had heard the admissions Mila made, he listened with a hardening cold heart as she confessed to the things she had done to attempt to bring ruin to the jarl. His anger rolled to a boil, building up pressure to a point of frenzied rage. 

He watched as the Breton used her skills to shock Mila’s wet body with arc magic. At one time he would have killed anyone who harmed this favorite wench of his, but as her crimes were admitted, the less he felt. As he listened to her confessions he realized the meaning behind her ‘blabbering nonsense’, the pain of it striking him deep in his chest. 

He stood up from his stool across the jail where he had been watching and walked angrily toward his former lover. “You killed the child I put into your womb?” he shouted. 

She laughed at him. “Bring to ruin the Stormcloak name, leave none alive,” she cackled. “An elixir of herbs to bring on the monthly waters and expel the demon inside.” 

He clenched his fists, a wave of emotions overwhelming him. His chest rose as he took a deep breath and tuned his attention to Meliandra. “Do what you will with her, but do not kill her.” 

She looked at him, confusion written on her face. “Let her live? She just admitted she killed your unborn child!” 

He nodded. “A fact she wished for me to live with while she escapes a life of regret for doing so through death.” He looked back at the bound traitorous wench. “Death is not always the optimal punishment. Sometimes being forced to live a long life means having to deal with the consequences of one’s actions, torturous punishment in itself.” He looked back to the Breton. “Make is so no one will ever desire her again.”


	49. In the Shadows

Her blood sung to him from across the inn; it was a beautiful sound only he could hear. Its voice was sweet, like a lover calling him to bed. He watched her flitting around the inn, the social butterfly she was, flirting with the sailors for a little extra coin. True to her name, she was a wicked little thing, bringing some of those sailors to her room where sounds of sex would soon follow. He had tried on more than one occasion to bring her home with him, but she had always turned him down. He had seen her coming out of the cook’s room late at night on occasion and it was then that he begun to hear her blood calling to him, caressing his ears of promises to be the solution to his problem so he could fulfill his destiny to become the most renown wizard to have ever lived. 

He smiled to himself as he watched Susanna flirt with a young sailor at a table in the corner, but he knew she wouldn’t be with him all night. She had been going to the Temple nightly as of late; he knew this night would be the night he took his prize. With a growing anticipation, he waited until she walked out of the sailor’s room and headed toward the door. Leaving a few minutes later, he made his way causally to the Temple of Talos, staying to the shadows. He did not know how long she would stay tonight, but he intended to wait until she left. He would not be denied his prize tonight. 

#   
She removed the robes she had donned when she began interrogating Mila. They were marked with blood, the sickly-sweet smell permeating her nose. As she took a rag and wet it to wash off the blood smears on her own body, her mind replayed the images of things that had transpired less than an hour before. For all of Mila’s acts of bravery, the woman broke easily once Meliandra started using torture of a more physical nature than the water torture she had seen used by the Thalmor during their interrogations. It had not taken long to discover that Mila had long planned to attempt to get close to Ulfric for the sole purpose of leading him to his death. Upon further questioning, she had discovered the twisted reasoning. 

She dropped the rag back into the wash basin, Mila’s words echoing in her ears. She was aware that she was going to have to inform the jarl of what she had learned, and this made her anxious. He was already angry and in a foul state of mind; recalling the look in his eyes when she had gone to him earlier, her anxiety grew. Here was a man who loathed disloyalty passionately, who ripped the disloyal out from amongst his numbers and thrust it into the cold without a glance back. And she was faced with being the one to inform him how disloyal one of his most cared for had plotted against him. 

She sighed as she removed the rest of her clothing, leaving only her undergarments on. She swore under her breath about the draftiness of these ancient palaces as she felt a breeze caress her body. She walked to the fireplace in her room and began to stoke the fire; as she stared into the coals, she saw things that had happened long before now, an old fear gnawing at the pit of her stomach. Memories that hid buried in the depths of her mind of a nightmarish childhood; words echoing in her ears reminding her of the accursed blood that flowed through her veins. She thrust the poker into a log, splitting it into chunks and causing embers to cascade out of the hearth, old pent up emotions threatening to take over. 

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” 

She spun around to see Ralof standing just inside her door, an impish grin on his face. The door shut with a click and she heard the distinct sound of the lock engaging. She smiled sweetly but with shadowed eyes. “Come to fuck more information out of me?” 

“I won’t turn down a romp in the sheets with you but I’m not here to get information from you.” 

“Then why are you here?” 

“Curiosity.” He walked toward her as he began to loosen his clothing. 

“Really? That often leads to trouble, soldier.” 

“I’m discovering that trouble seems to go hand in hand with you.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he continued to her, stopping just within arms-reach of her. “Care to make some trouble, beautiful?” he asked as he let his clothes drop to the floor. 

# 

He stood silently in the shadows, unable to turn away and leave before he was seen. Once again, he found he could not tear his eyes away from the scene playing out before him.   
He had not been able to control the need to see her, to observe her without her knowing that he was there. Something about her captivated his attention, something that grabbed ahold of him at random times and demanded his complete, undivided attention. 

He watched as Ralof laid the Breton back upon the bed, the woman reaching up to kiss him before the soldier positioned himself between her legs, his erection visible. Meliandra grabbed ahold of the muscular thighs as Ralof entered her, a gasp escaping her lips. He felt his own erection growing as he watched the two fuck in the room just beyond his hiding spot there in the shadows. Try as he might, he could not avert his eyes and watched until the two were spent and had drifted off to sleep, leaving him the opportunity to retreat into his own chambers.


	50. In a Corner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra reports to Ulfric what's she found out about Mila; Ulfric's anger is inflammed by Meliandra's stubbornness. Meliandra finds herself backed into a corner.

The guard stood aside, motioning for Meliandra to enter. She nodded to him as she passed him, her eyes scanning the chambers of the jarl, and seeing no sign of him in the bedroom, headed to his personal study where she found him sitting at his desk, reviewing communiques from men in the field. He barely looked up at her as he motioned to the chair in front of his desk, mumbling to her that she should have a seat. Sitting in the chair, she glanced at her surroundings looking for a hint of the man before her and what his true personality might be but found starkness dotted with trophies of animal heads, bookshelves filled with trinkets with odds and ends tucked between stacks of books worn with age. She brought her attention back to the jarl to realize he had been watching her, a smile to his eyes. She cleared her throat and sat forward. “You wanted to know what Mila revealed under my questioning.

The smile diminished slightly as the older man sat back in his own chair, the fur robe opening slightly to show that he wore nothing upon his chest, revealing scar across the broadness of his chest, some obviously caused by arch magic. “Yes; what did that lying bitch have to say?” 

“She hates you; she blames you for her father’s death.” 

“Her father’s death?” He looked confused as he looked at her, his brow furrowed. “He was dead before I even laid eyes on her. How am I the one responsible for his death?” 

“Because you sent him to the front line where he was killed, and she is convinced that you did so intentionally, so that you could be with her father’s wife here in Windhelm.” 

He sat forward, resting his arms on the edge of his desk and lacing his fingers before him, his face perplexed. “Her father’s wife? So, she’s the child of an affair?” At Meliandra’s affirmative nod, he continued by asking, “And who was her father?” 

“Jongas Fridthjof.” 

He stared at her in disbelief. “Appius’s father?” She answered by giving another affirmative nod of the head. He turned his head to the side, ran his hand across chin and gave his beard a slight tug as he did so; an amused look came upon his face as he shook his head slightly, his voice carrying a hint of irony to it as he spoke. “So, that old codger was getting him some action on the side.” He gave a hollow laugh as he turned to look back at the thief. “Jongas was a good man, don’t get me wrong. He was a good soldier and was extremely loyal to my father and, up to a point, loyal to me, though he was always highly critical of me and how I run this city.” 

“So, you fuck his wife as a way of being a thorn in his side?” 

He sat back in his chair, a stern look on his face. “Not that it is of any of your concern, but Jongas’s wife came to me. You see, Appius’s mother died in his youth and Jongas decided to take for himself a young girl for a bride, one who quickly found that life was boring when her husband spent most of his time on the battlefield far from here. She had come to me, saying how she had no idea how to be a mother to a son nearly the same age as her and begged for me to send her husband home. I asked her why I should bring one of my best men home when I needed him on the field.” His eyes grew distant for a moment as he related his memory. “She was desperate for him to come back here, so desperate that she took her clothes off before me and said she’d give herself to me.” He shrugged. “I brought Jongas home, but it wasn’t long till she was asking me to send him back because she found that she preferred to warm my bed whenever she needed attention.” He looked back at her. “Judge me however you choose, it does not matter to me. I’ve bedded many soldiers’ wives in my years and I probably will bed more in the years to come.” 

She looked him in the eye as stated flatly, “Far be it from me to say anything one way or another when it comes to my employer’s sexual conquests. The fact of the matter is that when he was sent to the front lines from his previous post, Mila began to hate you. When her mother found out that Jongas had been killed, she began to loathe you. She truly believes that you sent him there intentionally.” 

He laughed mirthlessly. “He was sent there intentionally.” He gave a slight shake of his head, his eyes again taking on a slightly vacant look as he seemingly looked into the past. 

“He was sent specifically because he had previous experience with the people involved as well as having intimate knowledge of the area. He was the best choice for that particular mission. It was a series unfortunate events that led to his untimely death, something that no one could have prevented. His loss was felt by many; how would his death have been a benefit for me?” 

Sighing, the Breton replied, “Jongas’s widow.” 

A grim look shadowed his face. “Risna?” He ran his hand down his beard, a hard, cold look in his eyes. “Do you know where Risna is?” he asked. 

“She’s dead.” 

Ulfric nodded. “Yes. By her own hand. Apparently, she believed that Jongas’s death was punishment by the Divines for her transgressions with me and her guilt was overwhelming her so much that she felt death was the only atonement for her. She made it a point that it would me to find her body.” He raised an eyebrow and posed a question to the Breton. “If she shared a father with Appius, why wouldn’t he tell her that Risna was dead?” 

“Is this something that you want an answer to?” 

He shook his head. “No, not really.” He steepled his fingers before him as he looked at Meliandra. “She still lives?” 

The Breton nodded. “That is what you wanted, sir.” 

“Where is she?” 

“In the cell. Healers have made sure her wounds are clean. She will not die from them.” 

He nodded solemnly. “Were there any others?” 

“She has not given any more names.” 

Ulfric’s anger suddenly flared. “You don’t know if there are any more involved?! That is information that I must have, Meliandra! You will go interrogate her further.” 

She stared at him. “As much as I’d like to end her life, if you want to keep her alive, you must give her the time to recover from yesterday’s questioning.” 

“I need answers, damn it!” he snapped at her. 

“And you won’t get any if her body expires from the amount of torture that I put her through!” she snapped back. 

His anger shone brightly in his eyes as he stared at her. After a moment he said angrily, seemingly resigned. “You’re right. You’d make a horrible soldier. You don’t follow orders.” 

“You’re damn right.” She stood up and glared at him. “I know what the fuck I’m doing so I’d appreciate it if you’d let me do my fucking job.” 

With that, she stormed out leaving the jarl staring after her in disbelief. 

# 

The two men sat by the warmth of the fire drinking mead and bullshitting about nothing in particular. The local sellsword expressed discontent at the lack of work he’d been picking up save for a few bounties put out by the jarl on some bandits but most of the gold he was awarded went to his armor. “If they want to kill each other, that’s fine with me, but damn, this war is making it so that no one dares go into an area of conflict. And best be careful who knows where your loyalties lie! I’ve seen too many friends turn against each other for supporting one side or the other.” 

Vorstag raised his mug in agreement. “I’ve been from one side of Skyrim to another and back again recently. Tensions are running high everywhere. And now there’s talks of dragons.” He shook his head. “Dark days, my friend, dark days indeed.” 

“Who you traveling with, kinsman?” 

“Breton woman named Mel, from Riften.” 

“Riften?” He shook his head. “I haven’t been there in ages. Last I heard the Thieves Guild had lost its hold even there, but it’s still a cesspool of crime.” 

Vorstag smiled. “Stenvar, my friend, the Thieves Guild is very much alive and well there.” He took a drink of his mead. He started to speak again when a scream from outside was heard as a patron entered the inn. The two men looked at each other then put their mugs down and rushed out the door. Seeing a guard rush toward the graveyard, they rushed over to find the butchered body of Susanna the Wicked. 

# 

She was in the market when she heard the scream and immediately ran towards the source. As she rounded the corner she saw Vorstag on the other side, a tall Nord standing by him. She followed their gaze to the barely recognizable corpse of the barmaid. It was a gruesome sight, her abdomen cut open in such a way the skin and muscle folded back revealing the woman’s insides, or rather, the lack of. Her arms and legs were similarly cut, and she saw that the tendons were skillfully removed. In fact, every cut was deliberate and clean, no jadedness to the cuts. The stench of death grew stronger as she neared her travelling companion who stood close to the body. “I’d ask what happened, but that’s rather self-explanatory I see,” she said dryly. 

“It’s the work of the Butcher,” the Nord man said. 

Meliandra looked at him. “The Butcher?” 

He nodded. “Susanna makes the third one.” He shook his head sadly. “She was a sweet girl, bit friendly with the sailors of you know what I mean.” 

“She prostituted herself?” 

“Yes, to any patron that had gold, but mainly sailors.” 

Meliandra nodded, then looked to her companion. “Stick around, I’ll be right back.” She approached the guard and asked in an authoritative voice. “What’s being done to find this Butcher?” 

The guard looked down at her. “We’re stretched thin as it is with the war,” he snapped. “Nobody has time to spend on this. Sorry, it’s not pleasant, but it’s the truth. If you want to help, ask some of these gawkers if they saw anything useful. I’m going to try and examine the body before the rats get to it.” 

She spun on her heel and walked to the Imperial that stood not far from where she was standing. He was shaking his head with a sigh. “So sad when they have to die so young,” he said softly. 

“Did you see anything?” she asked him. 

“Excuse me?” he said before immediately continuing on. “Me? No. No…not really. I saw a young man running away but I really didn’t get a look at him.” 

She nodded. “Thank you.” 

Meliandra then approached the beggar woman and then the Priestess of Arkay, but like the Imperial, they hadn’t seen anything of any use. She returned to the guard who was reporting to another guard. She shook her own head as she reported to her own findings to the two guards. 

“Just like always,” the guard muttered in disgust. “Nobody saw anything useful. Again. The fucking bastard’s escaped again.

“You know, there might be more to this, if you’d let me help.” 

The guard laughed. “Look, friend, if you think you can do better than the legion of guards, be my guest. But first, you gotta speak to Jorleif up at the Palace. We can’t just let anyone go around claiming to be on official business.” 

Meliandra smiled at the guard sweetly. “Jorleif? Sure,” she winked her eye as she continued, “won’t be a problem at all.” She turned, motioned for Vorstag to follow her and headed toward the Palace. 

Walking through the doors she sought out Ulfric sitting upon the throne. When he saw her, his eyes grew hard; he sat up, his hand turned inward resting upon his thigh as he leaned forward a fraction, watching her as she approached him. She could tell he was still angry with her for her refusal to continue interrogating Mila; with a determined look in her eyes, her lips slightly upturned in a hint of a smile she stood before the throne and addressed the jarl. “I have a proposition for you.” 

“A proposition? What kind of proposition do you have for me, Meliandra? I would hope that it benefits me, especially since you have already angered me today.” 

“Oh, but it does, my Lord. You have a string of murders occurring in the city, a third victim found earlier in the graveyard, a barmaid by the name of Susanna. The guards tell me they’re stretched too thin with the war to investigate this matter.” 

“They are,” he said tersely. “What is your point?” 

“Grant me permission to look into this Butcher while Mila recovers, and I will get all the answers from her that you want.” 

“No.” 

“What?!” she exclaimed. “You don’t want this Butcher found?” 

“Of course, I do. And when we catch the bastard, we’ll hang him outside the city as a warning to all of what happens to criminals in my city.” He met her eyes. “Some people need reminding of things like this.” 

Her eyes blazed. “Are you threatening me?” 

He smiled at her. “As I said, some people need reminding of things, like who one owes their continued existence to.” He sat back in his throne, his eyes amused as he stared down at her, enjoying the power he held over her life. “Say I do grant you permission to look into these murders. What else can you offer me since you are already getting more information from that whore?” 

She glared at him, knowing there was only one thing Ulfric wanted from her besides her continued interrogation of Mila. She knew that if she gave him what he wanted that there would be hell to pay once Brynjolf found out. She thought about the situation she had found herself in and everything that she had already seen and had been through and came to a decision. She met his gaze and answered him firmly. 

“I’ll join the Stormcloaks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Imagery of Susanna the Wicked's corpse is loosely based on the victims of Jack the Ripper, with attention to victim Mary Jane Kelly.


	51. Letter from Cyrodiil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astrid receives a letter from Cyrodiil.

“She’s a showoff,” the blonde stated matter-of-factly to her husband. “Three hostages, dead in the blink of an eye. And she didn’t even balk at it. No hesitation whatsoever.” 

“Sounds like someone I know.” 

She smiled at him. “I was never headstrong like she is. She’ll probably end up dead because of that cocky attitude of hers.” 

“Now, Astrid, don’t be wishing ill will on members of the family.” 

She snorted. “I’m not wishing anyone ill will, dear husband.” She sighed. “Anyhow, we have bigger concerns to address.” 

“What’s that?” 

“I received a letter from the Cheydinhal Sanctuary; seems like Cheydinhal fell and with only one survivor. He’s making the journey here from Cyrodiil.” 

He waited for a moment before he said, “You sound like there’s something that you’re not telling me.” 

“Astute as always, husband. This Cicero, apparently he’s the Keeper of the Night Mother.” 

“The Night Mother’s Keeper?” he repeated, confused. “Does that mean…” 

“Yes,” she answered. “He’s bringing the Unholy Mother’s corpse here.”


	52. Hunting for a Killer

Galmar stood at the door of the war room as he listened to Ulfric’s steward going over a list of the day’s events. When he heard Jorleif mention Meliandra taking authority in the Butcher murders, he began to fume. Waiting for the steward to leave, he went to the table and poured himself a tankard of mead and took a couple large swallows, staring at the table in angry disgust. He listened as Jorleif left the room, the man’s smaller gait echoing through the passageway to the throne room. Once the footsteps died away he turned to see the jarl watching him with an amused look on his face. “You find something funny?” 

“You disagree with me allowing the Breton to investigate these murders?” 

“You gave that woman full authority? She reports to you? What the hell are you thinking, Ulfric?” 

“I am thinking that my general is forgetting his place.” He walked over, joining his friend, and, picking up a tankard, proceeded to pour himself some mead as well, while saying, 

“Is it not wise that whenever you are confronted with an opponent, you conquer him with love?” 

Galmar snorted. “There you go sounding like one of those monks on High Hrothgar again.” 

“Watch your tongue; I was supposed to be one of ‘those monks’.” 

Ignoring him, Galmar continued, “So, what do you intend on doing? Wooing her until she pledges her loyalty to you?” 

The jarl smiled. “There was no need to woo her at all.” 

“Wait… what? You didn’t have to? She’s already- “ 

“In exchange for the Butcher investigation,” Ulfric answered before Galmar could ask. He took a swallow of his drink then continued saying, “Learn your enemy’s strengths, weaknesses, what you can use to your advantage, and how you can manipulate their next moves so that they play right into your hands.” 

“What exactly do you want from this thief?” 

An image of the Breton naked upon his bed flashed before him as he answered, “I’m not sure, Galmar, but something tells me that we want her on our side when the Empire comes knocking on our door again.” 

# 

She exited the Hall of the Dead and looked at Vorstag, her eyebrows raised in an amused look on her face. “Was it just me or is that woman… off?” 

Vorstag laughed then replied, “Come on, Mel, give the old gal a break. She probably doesn’t get a whole lot of interaction with people. I mean… living people.” 

Meliandra stifled a laugh. “You’re terrible, Vorstag.” 

“Yeah, but you’re the one laughing.” 

She balked at him. “I am not.” She pointed to the bloodstains on the stones heading toward the more affluent part of the city. “You know, I’ve got a feeling that that’s from our victim…” 

“Really?” he retorted sarcastically. “So, what’s keeping us here, Mel? I mean, besides looking for this murderer?” 

She shook her head, her black locks swaying side to side slightly. “Ulfric.” 

“What do you mean, Ulfric?” he asked warily as they followed the trail of blood upon the stone path. 

“The man is paranoid. He trusts no one. Well, he trusts Stone-Fist, but I don’t know anyone else.” She shook her head exasperatedly. “Because he’s been betrayed by people he did trust, he’s hesitant to trust me. I think he still believes that I’m working for someone against him.” 

“Well, let’s just find this guy and get out of this city. Let’s get back to Riften. Or better yet, let’s go back to Whiterun and spend some time at your house there.” 

She laughed. “Can’t wait to see Lydia again?” 

He smiled at her, that lop-sided grin of his that made her laugh. “I bought her a present.” 

The Breton nodded as she pointed at the blood trail that led to the door of the house in the corner of the block. “Seems to go to this house. Look around, see if you can find anything amiss.” She checked the door and found it locked, then she began checking the windows, only to discover they were dusty and unclear to see through. She tried seeing if any windows were loose, and, finding none, swore under her breath. She could try and pick the lock, but she was sure she’d be able to get permission to get into the house if she only knew who had the key. Vorstag came back over to her and reported the same on his findings. 

She shook her head as she glanced around. Seeing an older guard making his rounds, she called him over. She showed him the writ from the jarl and asked him who had the key to the house. 

“Hjerim? Tova Shatter-Shield has the key. She lives next door, but I just saw her in the market, looking at the produce.” 

Nodding, she dismissed the guard while signaling Vorstag to follow as she made her way back through the neighborhood and toward the marketplace just beyond the walls of the graveyard. “I have a strange feeling about this whole situation.” 

“What do you mean, Mel?” 

Frowning, she shook her head. “Just a feeling, nothing I can really put into words, just… something doesn’t feel right.” 

# 

He was disappointed and upset. Susanna had seemed like the perfect choice, but still the magic had failed. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he would need a pure source, and the harlot that now lay on a slab in the Hall of the Dead was nowhere near being pure. The bodies were beginning to pile up; if he didn’t find a new donor next time, he was going to have to pack and leave for a while. He paced his bedroom, his thoughts racing as he hurriedly came up with a plan. He had possibly one more chance, but he would have to wait just a little bit longer. 

# 

The door made an audible click; turning the knob, she walked into the large house and looked around. She coughed as she breathed in the stale, dusty air, the lack of a fire inside the home for so long made it cold enough to keep the chill in Meliandra’s Breton bones. She saw a chest to the side against the wall; something was odd about it in this mostly empty house and walked up to it. She squat on her launches and lifted the lid and looked inside. Seeing multiple papers, she pulled one out, opening it and began to read; it was a flyer about the Butcher. She tucked the notice into her pocket and stood up. “Let’s look upstairs,” she said solemnly as she began to ascent the staircase. 

Flecks of dust hung in the air, tiny beams of sunlight making their way through the long untouched windows. She coughed softly, and an aggravated obscenity followed. The landing was spacious and large; she could see there were rooms in the back and went to investigate further. The first room held no clues; the second room, the main bedroom, it reaped the same result as the first room except the two of them were drawn to the bed that sat in the middle of the room with chairs stacked upon it. 

They returned to the first level of the home, Vorstag looking in the kitchen while Meliandra searched the rest of the house. In the back she found an end table with more of the pamphlets about the Butcher, obviously torn down from being posted by the looks of the rips in the papers. She began to turn away when something caught her attention, making her look again. 

The jade skull seemingly stared at her from its bone white setting; though it was obviously connected to the darker arts in magic, she could not deny the beauty of what lay in her hand. She turned it over and over absent-mindedly as she looked around the room once more. Checking the cabinets, she found only a few clothes as well as some odds and ends. Opening the last cabinet, she immediately knew something was amiss; there were no shelves in this cabinet and the paneling on the back rattled when she opened the door. Placing her hand on the back, she discovered as she had suspected, that the paneling hid something beyond. Running her fingers along the sides, she sought the mechanism that would trigger the paneling to open. 

With a creaking, the paneling began to slip into the wall. She crinkled her nose as the pungent scent of blood filled her nostrils as she stepped into the hidden room. It was everywhere, the walls, the floor. A bloodied effigy lay upon a pile of blood-soaked hay; it was obvious to her that some sort of magic had been done here. Seeing a journal on the altar that had been constructed, she picked it up and looked through it. A chill went through her when she realized what the clues were saying. 

“Fucking necromancers.” 

# 

He sat at his desk staring at the bed in the next room, his thoughts on the war raging throughout the land. Reports of dragon attacks were becoming more frequent but there were no reports of any Dragonborn saving towns or people. Despite all the stress, though, his mind kept returning to the dark-haired Breton thief with amber eyes who slept within the walls of his palace, just down the corridor from his own chambers. 

What was it about her, this young Breton who captivated his thoughts, whose very presence both pleased him as well as irritated him? Images of her played before him in his mind’s eye; he felt a yearning for her growing within him eliciting a deep sigh from the jarl. The woman was a thief, an assassin, and she used methods of torture familiar to him from back when he had been held captive by the Thalmor during the Great War. These were valid reasons for him to not trust her. Yet for reasons he had yet to realize himself, he knew he could place his trust in her. 

He saw Rory enter his room, dressed scantily as she usually did; he felt his cock twitch. When she stood before him, he signaled to her that she should undress then he watched as her clothing came off. He instructed her to touch herself, to pleasure herself then watched as she caressed herself. She slipped her finger inside of herself and began to fuck her pussy slowly; his cock throbbed within his clothing. He removed is pants, releasing his sex from its cloth prison, and began to rub himself. The ginger watched him watch her as they each fucked themselves, her finger sliding in and out of her slit, noisily. He watched as the wench worked herself into a frenzy, her orgasm flooding beneath her. His cock was hard and completely erect as he ordered, “Suck me.” She immediately obeyed him, kneeling before him and taking the length of him in her mouth. He held her head as she bobbed up and down on him; his climax was fast approaching as he started to thrust against her face. Crude vulgarities found their way out his mouth as she sucked his seed from him, a pleased look on the wench’s face for a job well done while he closed his eyes to see a raven-haired thief in her place.


	53. Searching for Clues

She went through the drawers in the room Susanna the Wicked had occupied during her time in Windhelm, looking for clues as to who this woman was, see if there was any connection between her and her killer. She found bottles of elixirs in the box on her dresser; sniffing them cautiously, determining the contents to be somewhat harmless. Noting the markings on the bottles, and knowing the lifestyle the woman had had, she came to the conclusion that the elixirs were to either prevent or terminate a pregnancy. She rummaged through the drawers of the dresser and found only clothing. Upon opening the door to an end table, she saw a stack of journals; something told her these were important as she took them out and sat at the table in the room. Bringing the candle closer to her, she opened the first journal and began to read. As she read in silence, her eyebrow rose and fell with both surprise and suspicion. 

For a few hours, she sat reading, turning the pages in silence, stopping only occasionally to stretch. By the time she had read the last page of the last leather-bound journal, she knew she had to bring them to Ulfric, what they contained would not calm his paranoia of conspirators, but it would prove to Ulfric that allowing her to look into this Butcher matter had been for his benefit in the long run. She gathered them together, putting them in a small backpack and nudged the dozing Nord on the bed. “Come on, you can get your beauty sleep later. I need to get these to the jarl.” 

“Ulfric? Why him?” he asked, yawning as he got off the bed Susanna had once called hers. She looked at him and he shook his head saying, “Yeah, never mind about that. Stupid question.” 

They made their way through the inn and out the doors into the cold winds. She looked at the clouds gathering overhead, a shiver making its way through her Breton skin and she pulled her cloak closer to her body as she made her way across the stone boulders that made up the streets of Windhelm to the Palace of the Kings. The guards at the palace were getting used to seeing her and held the door open for her and Vorstag; she barely inclined her head toward the tall Nord as they passed through, instead seeking out the jarl. 

“What do you need, girl?” came Galmar’s gruff voice from beside her. 

“Jarl Ulfric; I have information he needs to see.” 

He glanced at the pack on her shoulder. “Show him what?” 

She met his eyes. “It’s about Susanna the Wicked.” 

“And…?”

She tilted her head and smiled. “I think its best I show it directly to Ulfric; he is the one who gave me authority in this matter.” 

He smirked. “Have it your way, thief. But know that I’ve got my eye on you.” 

She watched as the older man walked to the barracks, a slight limp to his gait. She spotted the steward and approached him as he reviewed a list handed to him by a servant. He afforded her a glance as he addressed the maid, handing her the list back before turning his attention to Meliandra, a tired smile on his lips. Asking where the jarl was, he directed her to the training arena in the east wing then proceeded to attend to his duties. 

“Want me to go with you, Mel?” 

“No,” she shook her head. “Wait for me here,” she said as she headed toward the passageway Jorleif had indicated would lead her to the training arena. Venturing in to the semi-darkened halls, she realized that she had traversed these halls the night she had been caught, but instead of going the same route, she was diverted in another direction. Unlike last time, she walked in the light, taking a moment to look at the paintings and suits of armor along the walls. Soon she came to a set of doors, slightly ajar; she hesitated before opening the door. 

He wore only pants, no armor at all, his back to her as he held onto a bar secured into poles and pulled himself up, then lowered himself back down, then he repeated the action again and again. His hair dripped sweat onto his glistening back as the muscles rippled with his exertion; she had not realized how broad his shoulder or how large his biceps were. Her eyes lowered as she continued studying the jarl’s muscular body, paying attention to the fluidity of his movements. She watched as he let go of the bar above his head, landing with a soft thud upon the ground. Startled, she cleared her throat to announce her presence as she walked toward him. 

# 

He turned to see the Breton approaching him; he had been wondering how long she was going to be standing behind him, watching. He glanced up at the greatsword hanging on the wall that had given him the view of her entrance, a slight grin tugging on his lips. “Something I can help you with, Meliandra?” 

She held a backpack out to him in her slender hand. “In here you’ll find a set of journals I retrieved from Susanna the Wicked’s room at the inn,” she said, meeting his gaze. “It appears that Susanna and Mila were acquainted, extremely well to be accurate.” 

He took the offered pack, opened it and looked inside. He counted the few volumes then looked at the Breton. “You read all of these?” he asked flatly. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Do I need to read these then?” he asked. 

She sighed. “I’d say yes, but the decision is ultimately up to you.” 

He nodded, closed the pack, and handed it back to her. “Was Susanna part of Mila’s conspiracy?” he asked as he picked up a jug of water and poured it over his head, cooling himself off from the heat of his workout. 

“Yes and no. Yes, in that she made the connections for Mila. No in that’s the extent of her dealings as far as I can tell.”

He nodded then said, “It appears that allowing you to look into this Butcher was a good thing.” 

She smiled. “Yes. And because we’ve given Mila a day with no questioning, she should be well enough to question again starting tomorrow.” 

“Good,” he replied, turning to retrieve his tunic and, pulling it over his head, continued speaking to the Breton. “Does she know that Susanna is dead?” 

“No,” she answered. 

“Then use it to your advantage,” he said as he stood next to her. 

She smiled broadly. “Of course.” 

He looked at her, his height imposing to her frame, short even for a Breton. He could not deny to himself that every day he saw her, he found himself liking her more and more, his physical attraction causing him to take leave of his sense more often than not. He took her chin in his hand and tilted her head up, looking into her eyes, a smile on his lips. “Meliandra Valeria, you’re going to prove to be more valuable than I thought.” With that, he released her chin and continued walking out of the arena. 

# 

She stared after the Nord jarl, her blood simmering, but didn’t know if it was because she felt he was demeaning her or if because she thought he was going to kiss her, a thought she hated to admit excited her. She caught up with him, falling two steps behind him. “Do you want an update on the Butcher?” 

“Do you know who it is?” 

“No, but I- “ 

“Talk to me when you find out who it is.” 

“But, sir- “

He stopped and looked her in the eye. “If you need assistance about anything, go to my steward. Is there something you don’t understand about that?” 

Her eyes blazed back at him as she met his gaze and answered, “No, sir. I’ll take my leave of you.” And with that she stalked off to find Jorleif again. 

# 

He watched her stalk off with a smirk on his face, he had to admit to himself that he thought she was cute when she was mad, and his thoughts went to the many ways he would use to calm the fire behind her eyes. He watched until she was out of his sight, slightly disappointed in seeing her leave, then headed to his chambers. Perhaps Rory would be there waiting for him. 

# 

Jorleif had directed Meliandra to Viola, the elderly spinster of Windhelm about the flyer about the Butcher. Meliandra got the impression that the woman was somewhat of a busybody, that she knew more about the people in this city than people realized; she made sure to make a mental note of this as she found the woman walking to the marketplace. Upon showing the woman the necklace she had found, she was directed to Calixto, the proprietor of an oddity museum. 

She recognized the Imperial as she walked into the shop as the man from the graveyard; he seemed to be agitated and distracted at her entrance, something she noted in the back of her mind. She took the necklace from the pouch on her hip and showed it to him. “I was wondering if you could tell me about this?” 

The man took the amulet in his hand and examined it. “Ah, yes, I’ve heard of this.” He cleared his throat then continued, taking on a lecturing tone. “This, my dear, is the Wheelstone. It’s really nothing, just a piece of ceremonial jewelry traditionally given to the court wizard of Windhelm.” 

“You mean this belongs to Wuunferth the Unliving?” 

He shrugged. “One would suspect but I have never seen him wear it or even display it. You know,” he said scratching his beard, “I’d be willing to buy it off you for a fair price if you’d like to sell it?”

“Shouldn’t I bring it to it’s rightful owner?” 

The man’s eyes widened for a moment then calmly replied, “Like I said, I’ve never seen him with it, I don’t think he cares much for it. Plus, one must be wary when they deal with that man; he is known to be a necromancer.” He reached over and picked up a coin purse, and opening it, continued, “I’ll pay you five hundred gold for it.” 

Meliandra gave thought to it then nodded her agreement. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” 

Minutes later she was heading back to the Palace, going over what she had uncovered in her mind, Vorstag silently following her. Things seemingly added up, but she still felt like something wasn’t right with the entire situation at all. She glanced behind her at Vorstag and asked for his thoughts. 

He shrugged. “Well, the old lady thinks it’s the wizard and then that guy at that curiosity museum reaffirmed her suspicions. Sounds pretty cut and dry to me. That wizard’s killing people.” 

She nodded but remained silent, her thoughts churning as her gut told her that something was not right.

# 

He stood upon the bridge looking down upon the city, watching the movements of the Breton thief below intently. He knew she had a sexual relationship with Ralof, though it appeared that it was a mutual consent between the two that neither sought to further that relationship to anything more than fuck buddies. His dick throbbed at the thought of her bent over on all fours, panting like a bitch in heat as she took his dick in that pussy of hers, pounding her hard as she gasped his name. He imagined grabbing that raven hair of hers and pulling her had back with one hand as he fucked her, his other hand slapping her ass. 

He lost sight of the woman and grunted, turning to head back to the Palace. The image of the young thief letting Ralof have his way with her thrilled him, though he’d never admit to such a thing. He smiled to himself; he did not trust this Breton, but he was beginning to enjoy having her around.


	54. The Butcher's Farewell

The room was darker than most, candles only sparsely lit enough so that no one walked into the alchemy table in the middle of the room. She saw the wizard sitting in the corner, reading a tome; she thought of the words Viola had said to her as well as the warning Calixto had spoken as she gazed at the older man dressed in dark robes most commonly used by necromancers and those who practiced darker magic. He looked up at her as she walked in; he gave her the impression that she was intruding upon his time. “Wuunferth? I was hoping you could help me with something?” 

“If I must,” he answered, his voice rough and deep. She held the writ out toward him, but he waved if off, saying, “I know who you are, and I know what that is; I know more about the goings on in this palace than the palace gossip mill.” 

“So, you know why I’m here?” 

He shook his head. “Not really. I don’t know why you’d be asking me about the Butcher.” 

“I have reason to believe I know who the Butcher is. I just want to be sure before I go to the jarl with my findings as well as my suspicions.” 

“And I factor into this how?” he asked. 

“What do you know about the Wheelstone?” 

He looked confused. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

She began to describe the amulet she had sold to Calixto, watching the wizard’s face for any flicker of fear in his eyes or body language, but all she saw was a dawning understanding of what she described. When he began to shake his head, she asked him what was wrong. 

“What you describe is not called the Wheelstone.” He got up and rummaged through his shelves until found a dusty book and, opening its cover, began flipping though the pages until he found what he was looking for. Turning the book around, he pointed to a drawing and asked, “Is this the amulet you are talking about?” 

Meliandra snapped her wrist, an orb of light appearing above her head, and looked at the rendition. After a moment she said, “I can see it looking like this at one time, but that’s not what it looks like now.” 

“What you saw is called the Necromancer’s Amulet. It once belonged to the Altmer necromancer, Mannimarco.” 

“Isn’t necromancy your area of specialty?” 

For the first time, he showed emotion and it took her by surprise. “I beg your pardon? Necromancy? I am a member of the College of Winterhold, in good standing! They haven’t allowed necromancy for years!” 

“Really? Then why did I find your journal and the amulet in the Butcher’s lair?” 

“What?” he asked, bewildered. “I’ve never kept a journal, I can assure you.” He shook his head. “Who in Oblivion told you that the amulet was called the Wheelstone?” 

“Calixto.” 

The wizard shook his head. “Ehhh… Calixto and his books are often confused about such matters. It happens to the best of us.” He walked back to his seat, sat down and looked back at her. “You know, I’ve been noting a pattern to when the killings happen. Now that we know they’re tied into some sort of necromantic ritual, I think I know when the next might occur. Let’s see,” he began to mumble. “From Loredas of Last Seed until a Middas of Hearthfire… it will happen soon. Very soon. Keep watch in the Stone Quarter tomorrow night. That’s almost certainly where the killer will strike next.” 

“You sure about this?” she asked, skeptically. 

He shook his head. “Do you really have any other option but to see?” 

She frowned, knowing he was right, then walked out of his rooms. 

# 

Ulfric had not been happy when Meliandra had nothing to report at the end of the day, nor was he pleased when she informed him that she now had no intention on questioning his former lover the next day. Instead she planned on doing some hunting, perhaps some training, she had said. And no matter what he said, she had openly defied his orders. He had since spent the evening and part of the next day brooding over the thief and how he let her get away with her defiance when he’d throw anyone else into the stockades. Then in the early hours of the next morning he had been awakened by Jorleif informing him that Meliandra had found and killed the Butcher preventing the murder of Elda, the innkeeper. “She did?” he asked, a smile encroaching on his lips. 

“Yes, but not without a fight.” 

“As one would expect, but I’m sure Meliandra came out of this just fine.” 

Jorleif shook his head. “Wuunferth saw to her wounds and sent for a more trained healer.” 

Ulfric stood and began to dress. “Where is she?” 

“I’m sorry, milord, I’m not sure. Perhaps the chambers you put her in?” 

The jarl nodded. “I’ll locate her,” he stated before dismissing the steward. He draped his cloak across his shoulders as he exited the chambers he had occupied since he had returned after his father’s death. He made his way down the passageway until he came to the chambers of his youth where he had put the Breton, and, finding it empty, thought where the thief might be, then headed to the far end of the east wing of the palace. 

His footsteps echoed in the stone passageway, the sound bouncing around him. Soon he began to hear the distinctive sound of a weapon hitting wood repeatedly coming from the training arena; a knowing smile touched his lips as he walked into the large room to see the young Breton practicing her swing upon a wooden dummy. This time it was his turn to watch the Breton while she was seemingly unaware of his presence. He watched the lithe figure as she struck the mannequin with her sword, both admiring her while critiquing her form. His mind wandered as his eyes followed her body, entranced by her movement, so fluid and natural. 

Before he knew it, she had turned around and looked at him, he walked toward her casually. “I understand you took care of the Butcher. Windhelm owes its thanks to you, Meliandra, as do I.” 

“He gave me no choice but to kill him; it was a kill or be killed moment.” 

“To be honest, I didn’t even inquire as to the identity of the Butcher when my steward informed me of your success. Who was the culprit?” 

“Calixto Corrium.” 

“The Imperial who ran that odd museum?” he asked. 

She nodded as she replied, “That’s the one. Strange, odd man; I spoke to him at the scene of Susanna’s murder and even questioned him about an amulet I had found at Hjerim.   
He tried to frame Wuunferth for the murders in fact.” 

“I will make sure you are rewarded well for this.” He indicated the sword in her hand. “Yours?” 

“Yes.” She held the Nightingale Blade out toward him. “Would you care to give it a few swings?” 

Slightly smiling, he took the sword from her and examined the weapon, testing the sharpness with his thumb. “Very nice,” he stated as he stepped back a few steps, and gave the sword a swing. “Nice weight.” He handed it back to her as he said, “Spar with me.” 

“Excuse me?” she asked in surprise. 

“Come now, Meliandra, surely you cannot be afraid to test your mettle against mine, now are you?” He chuckled as he eyed her. 

She reddened slightly. “No, Jarl Ulfric, not afraid.” 

“Then spar with me. I want to see if your fighting skills are as good as your thieving skills.” His eyes smiled, his voice light as he joked with her. 

She smiled despite herself. “Oh, they are, my Lord.” 

He drew a sword, putting some distance between them. “Let’s see then, shall we?” 

And with that, he swung. 

# 

She reacted quickly, naturally, her own sword blocking the strike from landing. A smile spread across her face. “Trying to catch me off guard? You’ll need to try harder.” 

His voice was light-hearted as he responded, “If I wanted to catch you off guard, you’d be on your ass right now.” He blocked her swing, easily. “I know you have more sting than that! Why are you holding back?” His sword landed against hers, a resounding clang echoing off the walls. 

His strike vibrated through her causing her to drop her arm slightly. Her eyes widened for a brief moment before she retaliated, striking at the jarl, harder than she had before. 

“Who says I’m holding back? I’m just warming up.” 

“Warming up?” He laughed. “What were you doing when I walked in, then?” 

“Blowing off steam,” she countered with a smile. He struck again, but this time the force of his blow knocked the sword from her grip and before she could react, she found his blade in front of her, just inches from her throat. Her eyes looked at the sword in front of her, then at him, a smile still on her lips. 

He held the sword there for a moment before lowering it, his eyes revealing an impish glint to them. “Pick up your sword.” 

Keeping her eyes on him, she squat down and retrieved the Blade, then stood back up, still watching him carefully. When he sheathed his sword, she began to follow suit but stopped when he held his hand up and shook his head. 

He walked toward her, saying, “Your form is good. To an extent. Hold your sword as if you were going to strike me.” At her hesitation, he stated again, this time more firmly, 

“Hold your sword as if you were going to strike me.” She quickly gripped her sword and held it up at an arch. He walked around her till he stood behind her. “You should grip it lower, just half a hand’s length.” 

“I have always-“she started to protest. 

“Have you always had this sword?” She shook her head. “Of course not. Now, move your hand.” She frowned but did as he said. “Now, swing as if there were someone in front of you.” He watched her as she repeated his commands, then, telling her to stop, he approached her again, this time standing right behind her. He reached over and, covering her hand, held the sword, and began to explain to her why moving her hand would improve her skill. 

He turned to look at her to find her staring at him intently; her eyes soft, the light of the sconces reflecting in her amber eyes that upon seeing this close he realized had specks of green in them. The closeness of her to him had an effect upon him he didn’t expect. 

He let go of her hand and cupped her face, drawing her to him. Dipping his head low, his lips met hers, and finding them to be welcoming to his, kissed her deeply.


	55. Surprise at Whiterun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra stops in Whiterun and gets an unexpected surprise.

The skies, grey and gloomy, opened up allowing raindrops to fall to the ground beneath as Meliandra and Stenvar walked into Whiterun. The city was quiet, most people seemingly have decided to stay indoors to avoid the coming storm. She made her way to Breezehome, her house that she had barely spent any time at. One day she would have to make it a point to spend more than a day or two. 

She opened the door and smelled the stew cooking over the kitchen fire followed by the scent of bread being baked in the oven. Laughter from Lydia’s room filled the silence that otherwise filled the house. “Lydia?” she called out. “I’m back!” 

“My Lady!” she heard before sounds of rushed movements and her housecarl’s bedroom door being flung open with a harried looking woman rushing out, her face flushed. 

“Everything alright, Lydia?” 

The Nord woman smiled, nodding as she said, “Yes, my Lady. Just…startled.” She began to straighten up the kitchen area, fidgeting with some of the foodstuffs in the pantry behind her. 

Meliandra nodded then indicated Stenvar beside her and introduced him. “I need to replenish supplies and wanted to drop off some things here. How are the food stuffs?” 

Lydia smiled as if laughing at a private joke as she glanced behind her, answering, “They could use some replenishing.” 

“Okay, how much?” 

Again, she smiled. “It’d be best to replenish everything.” 

“Did something happen?” 

“No, not at all, my Lady. I’ve just used more than expected.” She shrugged slightly as she explained, “I’ve entertained a few guests in your absence.” 

Meliandra opened her mouth then closed it and walked up the stairs to her room. Stenvar looked around in the foyer outside her room as she opened the safe in her room, pulling out various bags of coins. “Stenvar,” she called, “Take this down to Lydia.” Shaking her head, she muttered, “Going to have to have a talk with her about throwing parties on my gold.” 

The man took the coin purses and walked back downstairs where Meliandra heard him giving her housecarl the money bags. A loud rapping upon her door jolted her and brought her immediately to the stairwell. She heard Hrongar, the jarl’s brother at the door asking where she was. 

“She’s not here,” came Lydia’s annoyed voice. 

“Don’t lie to me, Lydia,” Hrongar snapped. “She was seen coming into town. My brother wants to see her.” 

“She went out for supplies. I don’t know when she’ll be back.” 

“I don’t care when she gets back. You just tell her that the jarl wants her up at Dragonsreach. Don’t make me come get her.” 

Meliandra heard the door shut and began to descend the stairs. She began to thank Lydia for the deflection when she noticed the bulge of her stomach and stopped short. “You’re with child.” 

Lydia nodded. “I am.” 

“The entertaining guests?” 

She smiled. “I’m ravenous.” 

Meliandra chuckled. “I suppose you are.” She finished coming down the stairs. “And who is the father?” 

“I am.” 

Meliandra turned at the familiar voice to see Vorstag standing at the door to Lydia’s room, wearing only a pair of loose trousers, his chest bare. She looked back at Lydia then turned her attention to her former hired man. “So, I dismiss you and you come impregnate my housecarl?” 

“Oh yeah, Mel,” he said as he rolled his eyes, “that’s exactly what I had planned when you dismissed me.” He walked toward Lydia, standing beside her and taking her hand in his. “Look, I don’t care where you and I stand; I’m going to be here for Lydia and our child.” 

“Yes, you are,” she agreed with a nod. She turned to look at Stenvar, tossing him the coin purse she held in her hand. “You know what we need; sell the things we agreed on. I better go see what Balgruuf wants.” 

# 

The jarl’s chambers were dimmer than normal as Meliandra entered. Proventus gave a slight nod as he shut the doors, leaving her there waiting for Balgruuf to enter. She looked over the lavishly set table, her mouth watering at the sight of the aromatic roasted venison sitting in the middle, surrounded by loaves of bread and various roasted vegetables with goblets for the wine that filled the ewers on the table. 

She heard him walk into the room before she saw him; she felt his breath on her neck before feeling his hands on her arms. His lips grazed her skin as he welcomed her back to Whiterun, and more specifically, Dragonsreach. 

“My darling,” he murmured, “I’ve missed you.” 

Meliandra closed her eyes; his touch, while gentle, she knew could turn hard with no warning, his temper flaring on a whim. She had worn the evidence of that temper before and she had sworn revenge, she merely had to bide her time. She let him undress her, let him kiss her and fondle her intimately. She let him guide her to his male member and obediently gave it the oral ministrations he desired, and when he could not contain himself, she drank of his seed, but knowing he was far from done with her. 

With their meal growing cold, he took her to his bed, making her get onto her hands and knees, her ass sticking up where he begun to fingerfuck her, only his forefinger at first, then adding his middle finger shortly thereafter. At her growing wetness, he thrust his cock inside of her and immediately held a fast pace rapidly bringing himself to orgasm, his seed filling her womb as he held her hips until his climax had ended. 

He climbed out of bed, wrapped himself in a cloak, and said, “Shouldn’t let this food go to waste; let’s eat.” 

# 

The mid-day sun beat down on the two traveling companions as they made their way toward Riften; the horses they rode keeping a leisurely pace. When Stenvar had inquired how she had managed to acquire two horses from the jarl’s personal stables, she had given a cold reply of “Guilty men are easily manipulated.” 

He remained quiet for awhile as he thought about things then asked, “You’re sleeping with the jarl?” 

She pursed her lips, measuring her words. “Balgruuf sees a future with me; I use that to my advantage.” 

“And he’s a guilty man because…?” 

Her answer was short as she simply said, “He is not a nice man.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

They rode in silence again, Stenvar thinking of all that Meliandra had told him and things he had picked up on. Things made little sense and he had a feeling that they were only going to get more confusing as time went on. Turning slightly to ask his companion a question, he noticed she wore a blank expression upon her face, but her eyes betrayed the anguish in her soul. Concerned, he asked, “What troubles you, Meliandra?” 

“Troubles me?” she repeated. “What makes you think something is troubling me?” 

“Everything about you right now.” 

She shook her head, saying, “You’re imagining things, Stenvar.” 

He kept quiet but continued to watch her as she got more agitated as they got closer to Riften, shifting in her saddle often. Finally, the Nord stopped his horse on the narrow path in front of her, saying, “You can either tell me again that I’m imagining things, or you can tell me what’s got your pants in a bunch but I’m not budging until you tell me what’s got you so perturbed.” 

She arched her eyebrow as she stated flatly, “You do realize that I have no problem Shouting you out of my way, right?” She stared at him, waiting for him to move and when she saw that he was not going to move, she snapped at him. “I do not pay you to get involved in my personal life. Don’t forget that.” 

“You know what? I don’t give a skeever’s ass about your personal life. But if your personal life might put my life into jeopardy, then I have every goddamn right to fucking know. Now I’ve been watching you since we left Whiterun and the closer we get to Riften, the more edgy you get so something is rattling around in that pretty, little head of yours enough to fuck with you. So, what the fuck are we headed into? Is this going to be a friendly visit, or do I need to watch my back on top of yours since that’s what you pay me for?” 

She stared at him long and hard relenting only when she realized his words were true and that she owed him an explanation. “I have to pay a visit to someone in the Thieves Guild.” 

“The Thieves Guild?” he repeated, hesitation edging his voice. 

A small smile appeared upon her lips as she said reassuringly, “Yes, I have a lot of dealings with the Guild. I need to speak with a fence who handles specific items.” 

“If everything is alright, why this anxiousness?”

She sighed and glanced away for a moment. “Because I have a past with one of them; it’s complicated.” 

“Ah,” he said in understanding. “It’s complicated. I’m starting to see that with you, lots of things are…complicated. Especially where men are concerned.” 

She spurred her horse into a trot and pushed by Stenvar as he pulled his horse back, giving her berth to pass. As she passed him, she looked him in the eye, glaring, and said, “Some wounds take longer to heal than others.”  
She pushed her horse into a fast gait as they fell into silence as they continued making their way to the fishing town of Riften, home of the Thieves Guild. 

# 

Ralof trailed the Breton and the Nord from a distance, his orders from Ulfric being very specific about not being seen by the woman. He had had to resort to stealing a horse from the Whiterun stables, having been surprised to see her and her companion riding out of town on horses kept separate from the rest of the townspeople’s. 

The blond Nord sighed; he knew that Ulfric had bedded the Breton and had claimed her for himself. Ralof had heard the talk amongst his fellow soldiers about the jarl having been heard bedding a woman the same morning he had seen Meliandra, scantily clad, leaving Ulfric’s bedchambers. And then he had been ordered before the jarl and given direct orders to follow the Breton undetected but to insure her safe return, the words heavy as Ulfric told the soldier, “Anything happens to my… to Meliandra, I will hold you directly responsible.” 

As he sighed once again at the thought of Ulfric claiming Meliandra as his. In his mind’s eye, he could see the large, rounded breasts of the petite woman as they bounced up and down as he pounded his dick into the wetness between her legs. He thought about how he’d grab her tits and squeeze them hard as he rubbed them roughly. He thought about how he’d suck on her breasts, his tongue flicking across her nipples followed by playful biting. He found his thoughts drifting to the image of her on all four before him, her naked ass cheeks would get as his hands left marks upon them from slapping them. He thought about how it felt as he watched his cock slide into her as he had her on all fours in front of him. 

He felt himself growing harder and beginning to throb against the fabric of his clothing; he swore, knowing he needed release. He stopped his horse and dismounted; loosening his pants, he pulled his dick out of his pants and sat upon a nearby log and began to stroke himself, yanking on his member quickly. He imagined the Breton on her knees in front of him, her lips wrapped around his sex organ as he fucked her mouth, her hair wrapped in his hands as he held her head firmly in place. In his mind, he pictured her fingering her pussy as his dick slid in and out of her mouth, bringing herself to a dripping wet frenzy as he reached his own orgasm. His seed ejaculated from his shaft onto the ground below, but in his impromptu fantasy, he was choking the woman with his cum as it spilled out of him and down her throat. His orgasm rocked his body, both in his fantasy and in real life, making his body quiver and shake until he was spent. After a moment, he tucked his cock back inside his pants, stood up, and climbed onto the back of the horse, setting out to catch up to Meliandra.

**Author's Note:**

> *Quotation in chapter 52 is from Mahatma Gandhi, "Whenever you are confronted with an opponent. Conquer him with love."
> 
> Make sure to continue reading about Meliandra in the next installment of the series, "The Dark of Night"


End file.
